


The Sun Sets In Your Direction

by addielouwho



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual!Richie, Child Abuse, F/M, He's a lost soul, Lots of Angst, M/M, NSFW, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Richie is a junkie and party boy, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, also slightly inspired by 'skins uk', georgie is still alive btw, no pennywise because fuck that guy, or as slow as I can manage it, pop culture references, slightly slightly slightly inspired by the 2003 movie 'thirteen'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addielouwho/pseuds/addielouwho
Summary: It's been four years since Richie inexplicably began to distance himself from the rest of the Losers Club and started doing things he'd never thought he'd do. He doesn't know it, but he's lost.Maybe Eddie can find him and help heal the wounds that have begun to fester on his soul...





	1. and there's nothing wrong with me, this how i'm supposed to be

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, this is really just something for fun I'm writing on my own time so idk if the updates will be frequent or not because I got a main story for Game of Thrones that I'm writing like crazy and that's where most of my focus will be but fear not because I AM invested in this story and I'm curious as to where it will head
> 
> Second of all, there is explicit drug use and sex in this story, mostly coming from Richie. As it says in the summary, he is a lost soul and most definitely needs help, now whether he will accept the help or not is a different story...
> 
> But they are aged up in this story, seventeen years of age. I know that's still young but it'd be unrealistic to say that teenagers that age don't get up to stuff like this

Richie wrapped his lips around the nozzle of the computer duster, sitting Indian-style in his room on his black comforter with badass red patterns with his friend Sammy sitting opposite him. He pressed the button that let out the compressed “air” from the bottle and sucked it in, feeling the chemicals rush to his brain.

 

He was immediately overcome with euphoria, spreading like roots through his brain, down his chest, and to the tips of his fingers and toes. He felt his face go numb and he smiled, letting go of the canister, and handing it over to Sammy before leaning his back against his headboard, giggles escaping his mouth.

 

He watched through the thick lenses of his glasses with wild eyes as Sammy took a hit off the canister, and he burst into laughter at the look on his face when the chemicals hit him. Sammy sputtered over the canister and burst out laughing too, releasing the canister where it fell on the bed.

 

“I love this stuff, man!” crowed Sammy, running his hands through his short, sandy locks. His eyes were a hazy green and lidded heavily. He had pouty lips that Richie had kissed on occasion, but only for fun really, and usually when they were  _ very  _ high.

 

“It’s the best medicine,” Richie agreed, touching his face under his Buddy Holly-like glasses, delighting in the fact that his face was totally numb from the inhalant.

 

He picked it up again and took another hit, his head swimming from the high. “I can’t feel anything, this is  _ so  _ awesome!” he said, laughing.

 

Sammy laughed. “My face is completely numb!”

 

Richie suddenly got an idea brimming under his skin, his want for violence tingling. “Hit me,” he commanded Sammy. At Sammy’s confused look, he said, “I’m serious, hit me!”

 

Sammy reeled his hand back and popped Richie hard across the face, sending his head snapping sideways. It should have hurt, stung in some way, but he felt nothing. Richie just laughed harder and Sammy demanded that Richie hit him too.

 

Richie slapped him hard across the face and they both fell into raucous laughter, not feeling a thing. They passed the air canister back and forth a few more times until they were completely gone, falling over the bed and just laying there, blissed out.

 

Eventually, however, the effects wore off, as they were wont to do. The one thing Richie hated about the air canisters is that the effects wore off too quickly and you had to buy more. Richie had already used his money to buy two cartons of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka (the lady behind the counter never carded him,  _ score _ !), along with some groceries because there was no way his parents would remember, so he had to wait until he got paid again at his dead-end job at the gas station.

 

“Hey,” Sammy sat up, blinking a bit as his head went fuzzy for a second, “you want to go to the park and smoke some weed and get drunk?”

 

“I don’t got any weed,” said Richie, sitting up as well, his own head swimming.

 

“I do,” said Sammy, patting his backpack that sat on the floor. “I can text Tom and he’ll bring the gum.”

 

“Coolness,” said Richie. “Tell Tom I’ll suck his dick for a few pieces of that gum for free.”

 

“Knowing Tom, he’ll take you up on that offer,” Sammy laughed, pulling out his phone and beginning to text.

 

Richie shrugged. “I know,” he said.

 

“Dude, you are so gay.”

 

“I prefer the term bisexual.”

 

“Okay, I text him,” said Sammy, his phone lighting up immediately to tell him Tom’s response. “He said he’ll meet us there with the gum, and for you to get ready to suck his dick.”

 

“Great!” Richie stood up and pulled the bottle of vodka out from behind his bed and stuck it in his backpack before traipsing downstairs and grabbing red solo cups and sticking them in the backpack as well as a full bottle of Cranberry juice from the fridge. His house was a mess, had long since fallen into disrepair since his Mom was a raging drunk and his Dad was never home, and Richie honestly didn’t give too much of a fuck to try and clean the house more than a little, but it still bothered him a little to see that even the state of his house wasn’t normal.  _ Nothing _ about his life was normal, and that was the mess of it.

 

Sammy was waiting for him by the door and they walked out together, Richie having enough foresight to lock the door behind him. He knew his parents wouldn’t be home for a day or two. His asshole Dad was on business, while his Mother was out on another bender, which Richie supposed that was what he was about to do that Friday night. He wondered idly if he was becoming just like his parents, then shook the bad thought away as if clearing a fog from his mind. No way was he becoming like them.

 

No way. 

 

That’d be Richie’s worst nightmare come true.

 

They walked into town, ignoring the looks they got from the townsfolk. They were considered the punks of the town, but not like the Bower’s gang, who were just mean, psychotic bullies. Richie and his friends were a lot of things, but they weren’t bullies. Richie would never allow that to happen to himself no matter how bad he got. He and his friends didn’t even associate with Bowers and his gang, despite their threats for some good stuff only Richie and his friends sold. But they didn’t budge. Bowers could find his drugs somewhere else, the prick.

 

They spotted Tom sitting on a park bench, smoking a cigarette. He had styled black hair and wore a leather jacket. Richie owned one just like it, for he and Tom had raided a thrift store together and found matching jackets. They were high as fuck when they bought them, but Richie never regretted it. He wore it all the time.

 

Right now though he wore a faded Nirvana t-shirt and a denim jacket covered in buttons with torn up jeans and ratty Converse. Fall was settling in Derry, Maine and it was starting to get cold outside. It felt like a good 53 degrees outside and Richie found himself wishing he’d put on a hoodie as well, but he knew the alcohol and the gum would warm him up soon enough.

 

“Heyyyyy Tommy boy!” Richie yelled, gaining Tom’s attention.

 

“Don’t call me that, asshole!” Tom yelled as he turned around on the bench. He squinted at them through the encroaching darkness. “Why the fuck are your cheeks red?”

 

Richie and Sammy exchanged a look. “We bitch slapped the shit out of each other,” Richie said, shrugging.

 

Tom shook his head, used to their antics. He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out two foil-wrapped sticks of gum. “Here you go, shitheads. Go crazy.”

 

“You need me to suck your dick, Tommy?” Richie batted his lashes under his glasses as he took the stick of gum.

 

Tom leered at him but pulled away in the last second. “I’ll come over to your house later tonight, yeah?”

 

Richie winked at him before sitting down on the bench next to him and pulling out the vodka and cranberry. “You want?” He shook the vodka bottle as Sammy sat on the other side of Tom.

 

Tom put out his cigarette in the ground underneath his combat boot before saying, “Hell yeah!” He made grabby hands at the vodka which Richie handed over after pouring a considerable amount in his red solo cup and mixing it with the cranberry juice.

 

He took a large gulp, letting the vodka burn down his throat but to his credit he didn’t grimace. He heard footsteps from behind him and then felt hands on shoulders. “Hey Loser,” said a girl voice from behind.

 

Richie jerked around, a huge smile on his face. “Why, if it isn’t Beverly Marsh!” She was smiling widely at him, her red hair grown out, curling past her shoulders in amber waves. She was really the only one of the Losers club he talked to nowadays. They had all kind of just grew apart after the summer of ‘13. They didn’t even talk anymore, especially the others to Richie, they didn’t approve of his activities, except for Bev. Sometimes she joined in, like now.

 

“Got a smoke?” She asked, twirling her pale freckled fingers around.

 

“Sure,” said Richie, reaching into his jean pocket and pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds, the only kind he smoked. He handed her a cancer stick and lit it up for her, before she skirted around the bench and plopped herself on Richie’s lap, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek.

 

She nodded at Sammy and Tom. “Sup’ dudes?” She asked.

 

“We’re about to get high,” said Tom. “You want?” He pulled out another piece of gum.

 

Bev raised a brow, “Gum?” 

 

“It’s gum with LSD dripped on it,” explained Tom, popping one of them in his mouth and chewing quietly.

 

Richie unwrapped his and put it in his mouth, chewing loud and obnoxiously into Bev’s ear as she grimaced. “Gross, Trashmouth,” she laughed.

 

“You love it,” he grinned. “You want some alcohol, senõrita?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Vodka and cranberry.”

 

“Gimme,” she made grabby hands and Richie laughed before handing the solo cup over. She took a swallow rivaling Richie’s own before taking a puff off her cigarette.

 

“You talk to the other Losers lately?” Bev asked, handing him back his solo cup and watching as he took another large gulp.

 

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “You know they don’t approve of my activities and besides, we all kinda grew apart.”

 

“No, we didn’t,” said Bev. “ _ You _ did.”

 

Richie didn’t say anything. He hoped his face didn’t betray what he thought about what she said. It was true, but he didn’t like to think about it.

 

“I was actually heading over to Bill’s house when I spotted you,” she said. “They are having an old 80’s movie marathon or something…”

 

“And they didn’t invite me?” Richie pretends to act like he’s shocked, but he’s not. There was still a pang in his gut and he had a feeling it wasn’t the alcohol.

 

“Fuck ‘em,” said Tom beside Richie. “You don’t need them, you’ve got us!” He slung an arm around Richie’s shoulder and pulled him into a deep kiss, with Bev still in his lap.

 

They pulled away and Tom was grinning, Richie panting slightly and his glasses fogging up a little. “You guys couldn’t have waited to do that until I was out of his lap?” Bev snarked.

 

“He’s too irresistible, Bev,” said Tom, pinching one of Richie’s slim cheeks before taking a swig straight from the vodka bottle before passing it to Sammy who did the same.

 

“Yo, Sam-O,” said Richie. “Where’s that weed you promised me?”

 

Sammy flipped him off before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a baggie full of kush, a psychedelic grinder, and wrappers. He handed it over to Richie, stating, “You’re better at rolling than me.”

 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Richie muttered. “You looked like a fucking idiot when you twisted it up!” He laughed raucously, chewing steadily on the acid gum. He could already feel  _ something  _ beginning to happen. He expertly got to work grinding the weed before spreading it evenly in the paper and twisting it up perfectly. He looked to Bev still sitting in his lap and offered it to her, “M’lady? Would you do the honors?”

 

Bev took it with a grin and stole Richie’s lighter, sparking up and taking a large puff, French inhaling the smoke.

 

“Hot,” all three of the boys muttered in unison before cracking up.

 

Bev grinned and handed it back over to Richie before standing up. “Well, I better get going or they’re gonna call the Cavalry on me. Hey Rich, if you don’t get too fucked up, maybe you should come by. I’m sure they’d be all happy to see you.”

 

“I doubt it,” Richie muttered under his breath but he fixed Bev with a large, unassuming smile. “Maybe, Bev-Bev. If I’m not too fucked up.”

* * *

He got way fucked up. The acid gum kicked in about 20 minutes after Bev walked away from them and the vodka burning his throat made his head a mess with all the shit was seeing. At some point in the night, he and his boys found themselves lying in the grass, staring at the starry sky, except none of them were really seeing the sky, they were seeing somethings else.

 

Richie saw many things: spiders crawling everywhere, naked people sprawling around, and  _ clowns _ . Richie hated clowns, but he’d had experience with this gum before, so he knew they weren’t real, just figments of his fucked up brain. He had learned to laugh at the clowns and not feel so scared of them in this state of mind. He laughed out loud as he saw one of the clowns do some crazy ass kind of dance, kicking his long legs from side to side. 

 

Tom got really handsy when he was high and he kept feeling up and down Richie’s sides as they lay in the grass, rucking up underneath his Nirvana shirt and caressing his abdomen. Richie had to admit it felt pretty good, especially since he was as high as a motherfucking kite. Tom leaned over and pressed a loud kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth, making him laugh and push him away, but Tom only pursued further and whispered in his ear, “Can’t wait for you to suck my cock.”

 

Richie laughed harder and reached down, cupping Tom through his jeans, eliciting a groan from him. “Why don’t we go now?” Tom whispered. “Sammy is passed out.” He jerked his head behind him and it was true, Sammy was out like a light, snoring slightly.

 

Richie looked at him through uncomprehending eyes for a moment before shaking himself and saying, “You go to my house and sneak through the window since the door is locked. I’ll meet you there.”

 

Tom squinted at him suspiciously. “What you going to do?”

 

“Well, dumbass, someone’s gotta take Sammy home.”

 

“I’m not a dumbass,” Tom grumbled, but he did as he said and stumbled up and away, waving frantically as he left.

 

Richie crawled over to Sammy, laughing at his snores and shaking him slightly. “Yo, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wakey wakey!”

 

Sammy groaned and batted his hands away but Richie was relentless. He shook him harder and when that didn’t work, he crawled on top of him and kissed him fully on the mouth, startling Sammy fully awake and high as fuck.

 

Sammy burst out laughing and jerked Richie off of him, both of them rolling with laughter. After a few moments Sammy had enough sense to ask, “Where’s Tom?”

 

“He’s, uh, he’s going to my house for some—“ Richie waggled his eyebrows obscenely. “And  _ I,  _ the good sir that I am, am going to take you home first! So come on, old chap!” He stood up on unsteady feet and stuffed his stuff back in his backpack before offering a hand to Sammy, who took it after staring at it for a moment, his pupils blown. Richie figured he looked the same.

 

He helped him to his feet, both of them swaying heavily, and put Sammy’s backpack on his back before looping their arms around each other and staggering to the street where Sammy lived, which was coincidentally the same street where Bill lived.

 

On the way, they laughed and pointed out the things they saw in their fucked up minds. “That tree is  _ glowing _ , Richie. It’s  _ glowing _ !”

 

“The moon is going technicolor on me, Sammy, my man. It’s blue then purple then red then pink…”

 

“Sick.”

 

“It’s pretty  _ rad _ , my dude.”

 

“Never say that again.”

 

They staggered all the way down the street, their highs peaking, and passed Bill’s house. Richie could hear laughter inside but he ignored it. His heart was pounding loud in his eardrums but he chalked it up to the drugs in his system and pushed on, half carrying Sammy to his house.

 

They finally got to Sammy’s house and fumbled with the lock until it gave. Sammy’s parents were like Richie’s, they didn’t give a fuck about their son’s whereabouts or his activities. They were business people, and were rarely home like Richie’s parents, except they weren’t drunks, just neglectful. Richie made sure he was okay inside, as best he could as he was seeing some  _ really  _ weird shit now and gave him a goodbye hug before stumbling out the door and back down the street.

 

He took it slow, just taking in his environment as his high reached a personal peak. He looked at the ground and saw it fluctuating in waves and turning all sorts of colors, colors Richie thought he’d never even seen before. He eventually approached Bill’s house again and fought with himself on whether or not he should peek in the window, but his inhibitions were low because of the LSD and alcohol, so his weaker side won over and he peered inside.

 

There they were, the Losers Club. They didn’t appear any different than what he had seen at school, but at the same time they did. Bill was as tall as ever and his stutter was growing fainter with every day that passed. He looked happy with his arm wrapped around Stan’s shoulders, who still looked prim and proper, his OCD showing. They were positively glowing, although Richie couldn’t tell if that was just from the drugs. Their faces kept morphing though, from normal to scary, back and forth, back and forth like someone was pressing a button and changing their faces over and over again. Richie mimed this with his hand, giggling silently to himself as they changed with every “click” of the button.

 

Mike was buff and handsome, a football star and resident popular guy, although that took away none of his kindness towards others. He even still said hi to Richie in the hallways, which made Richie respect him all the more. He seemed to be saying something funny, for the others laughed and it sounded like music to Richie’s ears, which made him angry. 

 

Bev looked the same as he saw her earlier, and still pretty beyond belief in her homemade clothes that were really impressive. They seemed to sparkle under the lights of the living room where they sat and Richie spent an inordinate amount of time just staring.

 

Next to her was Ben, and boy did he change. He was much skinnier now, and muscular too. He had taken to running track for the school and he was good,  _ really  _ good. He was handsome too, to boot. Richie could tell by the way Bev kept staring at him that her crush on Bill had transformed into one for Ben. Richie thought that was good, they’d be good together.

 

And then there was Eddie, and Richie heard himself visibly gasp because if Stan and Bill were glowing, then Eddie was surrounded by a halo of light. He was gorgeous. He was still small but bigger than he was when they were kids. He was wearing a pink sweater that absolutely swallowed him and Richie thought that was the most cutest thing he’d ever seen. His hair wasn’t as neatly styled anymore, Richie figured the hold his Mom had over him wasn’t nearly as prevalent anymore.

 

He stared too long he realized, for Bill suddenly looked confused and jerked his head to the window. Before Richie had the chance to duck down, he could hear Bill say the word, “R-Richie?”

 

_ Shit. _

* * *

 

Richie was not in a good state of mind at that moment to think about hightailing it out of there, so he just sort of stood there like a fool, hoping and praying that they wouldn’t come out.

 

But they did.

 

He heard their distorted footsteps come to the front door and then it swung open, the Losers club filing out. They looked surprised to see them and Richie hoped they couldn’t see his dilated pupils in the darkness. He could tell that Bev could tell, but she didn’t say anything.

 

“Uh, sup guys?” He waved his hand half heartedly, their forms distorting worse than before. “Wow, you guys look  _ so  _ weird…”

 

Bill and the others exchanged a look and Bev was shaking her head at him, as if to say “shut up!”.

 

“What are you d-doing here?” Bill asked.

 

“Well, my good fellows, I was having a nice stroll down memory lane, admiring the technicolor of the trees, when I heard some sort of laughter so I decided to check it out,” Richie said.

 

“Are you high?” Stan asked bluntly, looking disgusted.

 

“As a kite,” Richie answered solemnly then burst out laughing, their bodies turning into red balloons. “You guys are balloons!” 

 

“Jesus, Richie,” said Eddie, barely even looking at him which just made him angry. Why wouldn’t he look at him? “What the fuck did you take.”

 

“Uh,  _ gum _ ,” Richie blinked slowly at them, their bodies returning to normal for a moment.

 

“No way, shithead,” Eddie’s voice was coming out slowly and Richie could swear a rainbow was flowing out of his mouth. “Gum doesn’t do _ that  _ to a person.”

 

“Well, it did Eddie Spaghetti.”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

Richie only grinned and shook his head. “Sorry to break up the little ‘reunion’ or whatever but I gotta get home. I got a date with ole Tommo’s dick,” he winked at them before stumbling away.

 

He faintly heard the group say in unison, “Beep beep, Richie,” which only made him sloppily flip them off behind him.

 

He stumbled back home, huddled in his jean jacket. The temperature had fallen another ten degrees and Richie was positively freezing. He tried to run the rest of the way home but his legs just wouldn’t work that way yet because of the drugs and alcohol pumping in his system so he tried to preserve as much warmth as possible. 

 

He finally got back and fumbled with the keys that were fluctuating in his eyes until the door swung open and there stood Tom. “I was beginning to think you got lost, loser.”

 

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

 

“With pleasure, babe,” Tom wrapped his arms around Richie and pulled him inside, kicking the door closed. While Richie was tall and skinny, Tom was even more so. He leaned down and captured Richie’s lips with his, slamming him against the shut door.

 

Richie’s hands wound their way into Tom’s hair, mussing up the perfect style. If Richie was in a better state of mind, he may have noticed that Tom’s hair was styled a lot in the same way Eddie used to style his. He wasn’t, however, so all his brain did was admire how soft and silky the strands were.

 

Tom attacked his mouth with a ferocity, licking and nipping into his lips and mapping out the inside of his mouth with tongue. Richie groaned and pulled him closer, where Tom pressed wet, open mouthed kisses down his neck, licking a large bite on his neck making Richie moan. He pushed him backwards, their lips never leaving one another and messily made their way up the stairs to Richie’s bedroom, where Richie threw Tom on the sheets.

 

Tom’s head cracked against the headboard but he didn’t even wince, he just grinned and motioned for Richie to come closer, his finger curling grotesquely in Richie’s drugged up vision. Richie fell upon him and tore at his leather jacket, Tom getting the hint and pulling it off rather clumsily. They kissed again, Richie’s glasses bumping Tom’s nose as their heads moved to and fro, kissing with a fervor.

 

“You want me to suck your dick, huh?” Richie giggled against his lips.

 

“It’s what you promised, babe,” Tom said, taking Richie’s hand and feeling his hardness through his jeans.

 

“I’m not your babe,” said Richie but he knelt down in between Tom’s legs and unzipped his pants, freeing his erection. Tom rarely wore underwear for situations like these.

 

Richie’s mouth nearly watered at the sight. He really was bisexual, he laughed to himself. There was nothing like eating a girl out or sucking some dude’s dick. Richie lived for it. It was really the only time he felt wanted, for he sure as shit never got that from his parents.

 

Richie wasted no time getting his mouth on Tom, teasing the head before wrapping his lips around him and sucking. Tom cursed and curled his fingers into Richie’s thick, inky black curls, pushing him further down until Richie thought he was going to gag, but he didn’t. 

 

His glasses slid down his nose so he hastily pushed them up as he bobbed his head up and down, jacking Tom where he couldn’t reach with his mouth. His own cock was straining against his jeans, so he reached a hand down underneath the fabric and began stroking himself as he sucked Tom off.

 

Richie was good at this, really good. He’d satisfied a number of people and always had them coming back for more, which didn’t bother him one bit. He could feel Tom was getting close, for he began thrusting up into Richie’s mouth. Richie began jacking himself off faster, rougher, chasing after that high that was better than any drug.

 

“ _ Ah! Ah! Ah!  _ Richie!” Tom groaned, thrusting faster and tightening his hand until it hurt in Richie’s hair, signaling he was about to come. 

 

Richie grinned and jacked himself faster and faster until he felt a familiar coil in his belly begin to unfurl and he knew he was close also. Without any further warning, Tom spilled down his throat and that was enough to make Richie come too, staining his jeans. Richie saw galaxies behind his eyelids, the stars and the planets aligning in his head. It was like he was peaking on a thousand blotters of LSD, lost in a never-ending euphoria.

 

Richie let up off of Tom’s dick and made eye contact with him as he swallowed. Tom groaned and muttered, “Hot.” He breathed heavily and ran a hand through his neat black hair. 

 

“You’re great at that, man.”

 

“I know. I aim to please,” said Richie cheekily and he laid back down on the bed beside Tom. His vision was still wavering, Tom’s head turning bulbous for a moment before going back to normal.

 

Tom pulled out his phone and checked the time, looking silly as he stared long and hard trying to understand the numbers. “Shit, I gotta go home. My Mom’s gonna freak if I’m not home in the next thirty minutes.”

 

_ Lucky you  _ thought Richie sullenly. His Mom didn’t give a crap one way or the other, which admittedly was helpful when he was out all night getting as drunk as a skunk.

 

“Here,” said Tom, zipping his pants back up and reaching into his pocket, pulling out several foil wrapped pieces of that gum, “before I forget.” He placed them on Richie’s stained bedside table before standing up and righting himself.

 

“You know I was only kidding about that, right?” Richie asked.

 

“I wasn’t,” then Tom leaned down and kissed him wetly on the cheek before staggering away.

 

Richie watched him go, before flopping down on his bed when he heard the door slam. He felt the sheets beneath his fingers, wondering if he could feel each thread count as he ran his hands over them. It felt like heaven to just lie there, but eventually Richie became aware that he  _ probably  _ needed to change his pants for they got all sticky beyond repair. 

 

He removed his jean jacket and Nirvana t-shirt, throwing them haphazardly across the room before shucking off his dirty jeans and briefs, putting them in his laundry basket. It was absolutely freezing in his room, it was always so cold in there. 

 

He threw on a Batman sweatshirt and black sweatpants, then threw himself back on his bed and rode out the rest of his high till morning, putting in his earbuds and coasting on the melodies his phone played.

 

He wished he could stay like this forever, living in an never ending high and oblivious to the world and all its fucked up problems, including his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song - jesus of suburbia by green day


	2. you might be wrong 'cause you know i'm right, if you lose your way you just follow mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my muse is just brimming for this story, so expect more (i hope)

Richie woke Monday morning with a hangover the size of Texas and ole Eddie Spaghetti’s mother smushed together. He had spent Sunday alone in his room, hotboxing the shit out of some good weed Sammy had given him Saturday and finishing off the bottle of vodka they had shared on Friday while watching Netflix on his phone. He had stolen his Dad’s credit card to buy himself a subscription a few years back and he still hadn’t said anything about it, the oblivious fucker. Richie trudged himself to his bathroom after putting on his glasses, looking at his appearance in his dirty mirror.

 

He was a mess. His hair was wilder than normal, his eyes were an ugly shade of bloodshot and there were circles underneath as dark as Hell. He fumbled in the drawers under his sink for his eye drops, but there were none. He cursed and slammed the drawer. He’d have to settle for his sunglasses. Thank God they were prescription.

 

He made his way to school looking like a regular hooligan, but honestly, what else was new? He smoked a cigarette while he rode his skateboard to school, definitely late. He had slept through his alarm and didn’t even try to rush as he got dressed and popped four aspirin. He didn’t care. School didn’t matter much to him, despite the A grades he got, much to the frustration of his teachers.

 

The front of the school was completely empty when he arrived, devoid of any loitering students, for class had started twenty minutes ago. He stubbed out his cigarette in the quad and then made his way to his locker, luckily avoiding any of the school staff. They were all itching to give him detention for the rest of his high school career. He stuffed his skateboard inside his locker, just big enough to allow it to fit before grabbing his chemistry book and going to class.

 

The teacher, Ms. Turner, was a mean thing, only twenty-seven years old but as crabby as an old lady. It was a shame, because she was actually quite beautiful, with cornsilk hair and bright blue eyes that were always hardened to flint when she looked at Richie, like now. “Well,” she said, crossing her arms and staring down Richie like a hawk, “Look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

 

Richie tried to look remorseful, but it was hard with his sunglasses on. “Sorry, teach,” he said. “I slept through my alarm.”

 

Ms. Turner didn’t look convinced. “Go to your desk, Mr. Tozier, and take off those ridiculous sunglasses.”

 

Richie made his way to his desk, which was coincidentally in front of Stan and said, “No can do, teach, about the sunglasses.”

 

Ms. Turner huffed, annoyed, “And why not?”

 

“Because I, uh, got a bad case of the eye drips.”

 

“ _ Eye _ drips?”

 

“Yeah, when your eye is so infected it drips pus,” the class erupted into groans and he heard one kid even gag a little. He smirked.

 

“Where’s your doctor’s note, then?” Ms. Turner asked.

 

_ Ooh. Checkmate, Ms. Turner. _

 

“It, uh, I left it at home,” Richie heard Stan scoff disbelievingly behind him and he fought the urge to flip him off right there in class.

 

“Likely story, Mr. Tozier. Take off your sunglasses and you can expect a detention after school today,” the class oohed at that and Richie rolled his eyes before sliding his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing the bloodshot of his eyes and the dark circles.

 

“ _ This _ , class, is an example of who you should  _ not  _ aspire to be,” said Ms. Turner before turning back to the whiteboard.

 

Richie muttered something ugly under his breath but pulled out his glasses and shoved them on his face before taking out his book and paper, and began to take notes. 

 

He tried, he really did, but Richie was pretty certain he had untreated ADHD so it was incredibly difficult to stay focused. He kept tapping his pen on the desk and jiggling his leg, looking around at the other students who seemed to have no problem focusing on what that bitch Ms. Turner said. 

 

His tapping must have annoyed Stan, for he felt him lean up behind him and mutter in his ear, “If you don’t stop tapping your goddamn pencil, I swear to God I will strangle you right here and now.”

 

Richie smirked and tapped his pencil even harder, muttering back, “I thought Jews didn’t believe in God.”

 

“We don’t believe in Jesus, dumbass, now stop that!”

 

“Is there a problem, boys?” Ms. Turner turned around from the whiteboard, looking exasperated.

 

Stan immediately moved back into his seat. “Nothing, Ms. Turner. Just asking Richie for a pen.”

 

Richie coughed, “ _ Lying ass _ .”

 

Stan kicked him swiftly under the desk and Richie let out a laugh.

 

“Alright, that’s it. Mr. Tozier you can expect another detention tomorrow and Mr. Uris here can join you today,” Ms. Turner said, looking rather pleased with herself.

 

“What?!” Stan nearly yelled. “M—Ms. Turner, I can’t have detention.”

 

“Too bad, Mr. Uris,” said Ms. Turner. “You should know better than to associate with that boy.”

 

Class ended without any further incidents, though Richie could feel Stan glaring daggers in the back of his head. When the bell rung, Richie was the first out of the door, breezing past the others in the class and out into the hallway. He was halfway to his next class when he heard someone call his name.

 

“Richie!” It was Michelle, one of Richie’s friends and occasional hookups. She was absolutely gorgeous with an elfin face and pitch black hair like Richie’s, only hers was straight. She had bright blue eyes that were always lined with kohl and black clothes. Today she was wearing a black dress that went to her knees and fishnets with black combat boots. On her back was a large jean jacket that swallowed her thin frame up. She was so thin because she was addicted to speed, practically ate the pills up like candy. Sometimes she gave some to Richie if she was feeling generous. She usually was.

 

“Oh, hey ‘Chelle,” he said, turning to her. He looked at her jacket, “Is that mine?”

 

Michelle smirked. “Yeah, it is. You gotta problem with that, Richie?”

 

“None whatsoever, ‘Chelle. Keep it, it looks good on you.”

 

“You look good too, Richie.  _ Real  _ good. Wanna come to my house after school today? We can do some blow~”

 

“Tch, can’t. Got detention after school today.”

 

“That’s okay, just come over after. My parents won’t be home till like nine.”

 

“Okay, sure ‘Chelle,” Richie made to leave but Michelle grabbed the edge of his hoodie and pulled him into a searing kiss, right there in the middle of the hallway. She was a very affectionate person.

 

“A promise for later,” Michelle whispered against his lips before flouncing off to class, leaving Richie in the dust. He watched her leave for a moment before gathering himself and walking to class, feeling as though there were eyes on him the whole time.

* * *

Eddie was a fool. A total and utter fool, and it was no one’s fault but himself. The day had started out normal enough: he woke up, brushed his teeth, styled his curls, got dressed in a pastel pink sweater and acid wash jeans, and came down and ate breakfast with his Mom. They didn’t really talk much, ever since Eddie had found out second-hand through Gretta Keene that all his pills were placebos, and that was fine with Eddie. He didn’t really want to talk to her anyway.

 

Bill picked him up for school like he always did, after picking up Stan and Ben, then they were on the way to Beverly’s house where she lived with her Aunt after she  _ finally  _ got her Father arrested for sexual deviancy. They got to school early, like always, and made their way to their lockers. Eddie couldn’t help himself, but he found himself looking for  _ him _ .

 

_ Richie _ .

 

Ever since before Eddie can remember, he always had a thing for Richie. Whether it was friendship or something more, Eddie didn’t know at first, but the years progressed and he started noticing Richie in a different light, in a way that his Mother always told him no boy should think about another boy.

 

But he couldn’t help it, Richie was entrancing.

 

With his coal black hair and huge glasses, jokes that Eddie always rolled his eyes to but secretly enjoyed, the nicknames he gave him,  _ everything _ . He hated it, absolutely  _ hated  _ it when Richie began to distance himself, eventually cutting himself off altogether from Eddie and the others. Eddie had tried to confront him, but Richie had brushed him off.

 

Eddie knew what he got up to,  _ everyone  _ knew what he got up to. He was a fiend, not like Bowers, but a fiend nonetheless. He got high on  _ something  _ everyday and drunk more times than not. One time, he stumbled into school two hours late stinking of weed and alcohol. Eddie knew about that because he was in his class with him. Richie got sent home for a week and almost expelled, but with his exceptional grades, they didn’t want to let him go so easily.

 

Eddie always found himself looking for Richie while they were in school, always wanting to get a look at his beautiful but wan face, but he always disappointed in one way or another.

 

Like today.

 

He was in the hallway, after first period, getting his books for his second class and, as always, looking for Richie, when he saw him in the hallway, talking to  _ Michelle _ . Eddie  _ hated  _ Michelle. She was a junkie and a whore, who had the hots for Richie and Richie liked her back, which made Eddie want to hit something, hit  _ her _ .

 

Like now. 

 

Eddie gripped the steel of his locker hard in his hand, watching as Michelle grabbed Richie’s hoodie and pulled him into a searing kiss, making Eddie’s blood boil. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like this, be jealous over someone who didn’t even acknowledge his existence anymore, not that Eddie was any better. He remembered with clarity last Friday night, how high Richie had been when Bill had saw him peering through the window. Eddie couldn’t even look at him then, saddened by how far Richie had fallen, and for what?

 

What made Richie do that?

 

What went wrong?

 

Eddie had wanted answers, had demanded them from Richie when he began to distance himself from him and the others, but Richie hadn’t given him any. Just brushed him off, as he did for the next few months until Eddie and the others stopped trying altogether. The only person who still hung out with him was Beverly, and Eddie supposed that was because he and Bev were like kindred spirits.

 

At one point Eddie thought  _ he  _ and Richie were kindred spirits, but he supposed he thought wrong.

 

Eddie slammed his locker door shut after grabbing his Literature book and shuffled his way to class, which he shared with Bill and Ben. He was early, despite watching Richie and Michelle sucking face, and sat down next to Bill. Bill was writing in his notebook that was especially for Bill’s writings and musings. Bill was a  _ really _ good writer, mostly horror stories that were terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Eddie was a complete scaredy cat when it came to horror but he still read Bill’s stuff religiously, as did the rest of the Losers club. 

 

Eddie looked to Bill, and forced himself to ask, “Is Michelle Greene dating Richie?”

 

Bill looked up at him, startled. “W-What? Is Richie d-dating who?”

 

“ _ Michelle _ . Michelle Greene,” Eddie should just shut up, really. But he couldn’t help it, he  _ had _ to know.

 

Bill shrugged. “I-I don’t know. I don’t think s-so? Wasn’t he about to, y-you know…” He indicated downwards with his head to his crotch and Eddie immediately got the message.

 

“Yeah, but…”

 

“Butttttt, Richie sleeps around. You  _ know _ this.  _ Everybody _ knows this. It’s probably nothing, Eddie. Wh-why do you c-care anyway?” Bill asked.

 

Eddie didn’t answer. Thankfully, the teacher walked in with Ben behind her and they both shut up and focused on the English lesson. He walked through the rest of the first couple of classes in a daze until lunchtime where he sat with the rest of the Losers. His Mom packed his lunch everyday, religiously, even though they didn’t communicate much, so he carried his pack lunch to the dirty old table where he and the other Losers sat, bar one.

 

Eddie appreciated Stan, really. He saw him wiping down the table with a crazed look in his eye with a wet wipe, making sure for all of them that the table was clean, but especially for him and Eddie, who were both extreme germaphobes, though Eddie’s had calmed down considerably ever since the summer of ‘13 with his Mom and Gretta Keene. Those damn placebos.

 

They all sat down after Stan had done his customary wipe down and Eddie sat next to Bev and Ben, getting a good look at the table that Richie sat at with his friends Tom and Sammy, and sometimes Bobby, who was a senior and ate lunch out of school usually. Eddie watched as Richie meandered over to their table, laughing and talking with Tom, who had a lovestruck look on his face as he stared at Richie. Richie’s lunch tray was absolutely  _ piled _ with food, everything from the school’s shitty pizza and runny mashed potatoes, to the relatively good blue jello that they always served on Mondays and Fridays.

 

Eddie must have been staring for too long, for Bev waved a hand in front of his face teasingly. “Eddie? Earth to Eddie? Are you there?”

 

“Yeah!” Eddie jerked. “Yeah, I’m here.”

 

Bev looked to where Eddie had been staring and smiled sympathetically to him. She was the only one of the Losers club who knew of Eddie’s pathetic crush on Richie, even after all this time. She didn’t press the matter, saying, “We were just talking about the Halloween dance and what we are all going as. I’m going as Ariel and Ben’s going to be my Eric. What about you, Eddie?”

 

“I, uh, I haven’t thought about it.”

 

“You could be Superman,” suggested Mike. “Isn’t he like, your  _ favorite _ superhero?”

 

“Yeah,” said Eddie slowly, being brought back into the conversation. “But don’t you think I’m a little small for Superman?”   
  


“Superboy, then,” Bev said, grinning.

 

Eddie groaned. “Not Superboy! I’d rather be Robin…”

 

“There you go!” said Bev happily. “You can be Robin. Now if only we could find you a  _ Batman _ …” She tilted her head discreetly to Richie, which caused Eddie to kick her under the table, making her grin all the more harder.

 

“Forget about that!” said Stan suddenly, startling all of them at the table. He had been silent through the whole conversation, stewing on something. “Guess who just got themselves landed in detention today.”

 

“Henry Bowers,” said the group unanimously. 

 

Stan groaned. “I wish, but no. It was me.”

 

“Y-you?” Bill sputtered, and the others looked just as surprised. Stan was a good student, the  _ perfect _ student, his OCD never allowing for anything less. “Wh-what did you do?”

 

“Not what  _ I  _ did, what  _ he _ did,” he jerked his head in Richie’s direction, who was still laughing loudly at something that Tom said, leaning his head on his shoulder. Once again, Eddie’s blood boiled.

 

“What’d he do?” Ben asked, picking at his salad. He didn’t eat much these days, or at all, Eddie noticed.

 

“He was being so goddamn annoying, coming into class smelling of cigarettes and his eyes were all bloodshot like he just smoked weed or got off some  _ huge _ bender and he just couldn’t stop tapping his pencil. He was like a mad man, just tapping away. So, I silently whispered in his ear to knock it off, and what does he do? He starts tapping even harder, the jackass. Ms. Turner caught me kicking him under the desk and gave me detention along with him. So now, I have to suffer an hour long period after school with just  me and  _ Trashmouth _ ,” Stan said, looking as if he was about to pull out his curls by the strands.

 

“We-well, it’s only one day, right? H-how bad can it be?” Bill asked, putting an arm around his boyfriend. 

 

“ _ Bad _ ,” said Stan dramatically. “You know how he is.”

 

“He’s not  _ that _ bad, Stan,” said Bev, frowning a little.

 

“You just say that because you are still friends with him,” said Stan. “He’s a junkie, Bev. He’s almost as bad as Bowers.”

 

“No, he’s not,” Bev said, getting incensed. “He’s not anything like Bowers, you take that back!”

 

“Guys,” Ben whisper-yelled. When they didn’t answer, still bickering, Ben yelled, “GUYS!”

 

Bev and Stan whirled their heads to him. “What?!” They yelled in unision.

 

“Richie and his friends are coming this way,” he said. “Shut. Up.”

 

Eddie looked up, his heart fit to burst in his chest, and saw that indeed Richie and his friends were heading right this way. The whole group, except Bev, held their breath as he walked with a seeming purpose to their table. Bev was the only one who smiled at him when he approached, although Mike said a faint, “Hey, man,” which Richie returned.

 

“Heeeeyyyyy, Bev-Bev,” said Richie, placing his arms down on the table and leaning forward. “How’s life crackalackin?”

 

Bev laughed, completely at ease with Richie. “Good, detention boy.”

 

Richie sucked in a deep breath, “So you heard, I take it.”

 

“From Stan the Man, himself,” said Bev, smirking wickedly at Stan, who glared at her.

 

Richie turned to Stan. “Hey, man, I just wanted to say sorry about that. I didn’t mean for Ms. Turner to get you into trouble too, you know she can be a bitch sometimes—wait, scratch that,  _ all _ the time.”

 

Stan stared at him, mouth agape. Richie almost never apologized, not even when they were little. “And, uh, I’m  _ nothing _ like Bowers, so just get that out of your head,” Richie continued before walking away with his friends out the doors of the cafeteria, Tom and Sammy shoving him playfully through the doors.

 

A moment of silence followed him, all of the Losers except Bev looking like they were about to catch flies. After a second, Mike spoke up, “Uh, what was  _ that _ about?”

 

“I  _ told _ you,” said Bev, looking smug, “He’s  _ not  _ like Bowers. Not. at. all.”

* * *

Richie bust into the boy’s restroom with his friends, already fishing for his cigarettes out of his hoodie pocket. He jumped up on the sink and cracked open a window so the smoke would filter out before lighting up, along with Tom and Sammy. None of them said anything for a moment before Tom spoke up, “Why’d you apologize to that asshole? We all heard him, he said you were like fucking  _ Bowers _ .”

 

Richie shrugged and took a long drag off his cigarette. “I don’t know. Those guys  _ were _ my friends once upon a time…”

 

“Yeah, like  _ four years ago _ ,” said Sammy. “I remember, you were  _ inseparable _ with those guys, then one day you just stopped and started hanging out with us. I never asked, but...why?” He and Tom looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

 

Richie just shrugged again. “I don’t know.” That wasn’t true, he  _ did _ know, but there was no way he was about to spit that out, even to those he called friends.

 

Tom and Sammy looked at each other, then shrugged, dropping it. That’s what Richie loved about them: no drama, no nonsense, just party, party, party. Tom took a drag off his cigarette then said, “You going to that Halloween dance?”

 

“I haven’t given it much thought, why?”

 

“Welllll, me and Sammy are going and we wanted you to tag along.”

 

“ _ Tag along _ ?” Richie echoed. “Jeez thanks, Tommy boy.”

 

Tom rolled his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. It should be fun, you get to dress up and we can even spike the punch if bitch Turner and dick Haraldson aren’t hawking around.”

 

“They are  _ always  _ hawking around,” said Richie. “ _ Especially _ at dances. Remember last year?”

 

Sammy laughed. “Oh, yeah! Bowers got a two month suspension for spiking the punch bowl with cocaine! Now  _ that _ was a laugh.” At Richie and Tom’s questioning look, Sammy backtracked, “Not that that was  _ cool _ or anything. Bowers is a dick.”

 

“Damn straight,” said Richie, puffing on his cigarette.

 

“Forget about Bowers and that shit for a second,” said Tom. “We can still have a good time, Richie Rich. I know for a  _ fact _ that Michelle is going to be there.”

 

Richie raised his dark eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? I’m hanging out with her after detention today…”

 

“You are?!” Both boys asked incredulously, until they shook themselves and Tom continued, “Well, there you have it. A good reason to go.”

 

Richie shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

 

“Cool,” Tom smiled his charming smile that made people go weak in the knees, even Richie. “What will you go as?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Tom and Sammy exchanged a look and rolled their eyes. “It’s a  _ Halloween _ party, dude. You gotta dress up.”

 

“Is that a fact?”

 

“Yeah,” said Sammy, oblivious to Richie’s sarcasm, or maybe he was just immune to it by now. “I’m going as Westley from the Princess Bride, because Sandy Richardson is going as Princess Buttercup—”

 

“Dude, seriously?” asked Richie, laughing a bit.

 

“Shut the fuck up. She said she’ll have sex with me if I dress up as Westley,  _ so,  _ I’m fucking dressing up as Westley for fucks sake!” Sammy said.

 

“Okay, fine, fine!” said Richie, raising his hands in mock surrender. He looked at Tom, “What about you? What are you going as?”

 

“The Joker,” said Tom simply. “Chicks dig the Joker.”

 

“And boys,” said Richie, winking at him. He sighed heavily, “Alright, alright, I’ll go.”

 

“What as?” both boys asked at once, over-eager.

 

“Batman.”

* * *

Richie waltzed into detention twelve minutes late, but hey, what else was new? The teacher overseeing the detention just glared at him before indicating him to take a seat, the only one free next to Stan, who looked none too pleased by this development.

 

In detention at Derry High, you were just expected to keep quiet, do your homework, and absolutely no talking or sleeping. Richie thought it incredibly boring, but he had long since gotten used to it. He slid into the seat next to Stan and pulled out his Chemistry homework, as he might as well get it done since he was here. He flipped through it until he found the page that was designated for homework, and started on it. He was halfway through when he felt a timid tap on his arm. 

 

He looked up. It was Stan, looking guiltily at him.

 

“Hey,” Stan whispered.

 

“Hey?” Richie whispered back, unsure of where this was going.

 

“I’m--I’m sorry for what I said at lunch earlier,” Stan said in a rush, looking as if he just swallowed a lemon. “It was--it was uncool of me and--”

 

Richie held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Lemme guess, Billy boy put you up to this?”

 

Stan didn’t say anything but shook his head no. “Bev-Bev, then?” At that, Stan looked guilty once more. “Ah,” said Richie, chewing on the end of his pen. “Well, don’t worry. As I learned from the American Girl Felicity movie, ‘Words spoken in the heat of anger, are never from the heart.’” 

 

Stan raised a brow at that, but said, “Noted. Thanks, Richie. You know, you should--”

 

“Imma stop you right there,” said Richie. “I don’t want to hang out with you guys, I was just trying to be nice.”

 

Stan’s eyes turned ice cold. “You’re an asshole, Richie.”

 

“I know. My parents tell me all the time.”

 

Stan said nothing and turned back to his homework, effectively ending their conversation. Richie did the same, and finished his Chemistry homework in record time. It was all too easy for him, really. It was pathetic at how easy it was, even for someone like him.

 

_ A junkie _ said a voice in his head.  _ A no account, no good, asshole _ .

 

Richie told the voice to go to Hell and practically shot out of his seat when the teacher let them go, grabbing his skateboard out of his locker and making his way down to Michelle’s house near the high school. He knocked on the door only once, and Michelle opened the door, looking extremely pleased to see him. 

 

“Hey Rich,” she said. “Glad you’re here. Come in, have a drink with me.”

 

Richie kicked his skateboard up into his hand and followed her inside. She had a nice suburban home, not like Richie’s at all. It was all clean and pastel, a stark contrast to Michelle and himself. It was completely empty except for the two of them, and the flat screen TV in the living room was playing some Netflix show. 

 

Michelle held out two bottles to him. “Ciroc or Tequila?”

 

“Tequila,” said Richie, throwing his backpack down on the floor and flouncing on the expensive couch. “I’ve had enough of vodka to last me a few days.”

 

“Only a few days, I’m sure,” teased Michelle, pouring him out a shot of tequila.

 

“You know it’s my vice ‘Chelle.”

 

“I know, Richie Rich. Here,” she handed him the tequila and he threw it back in one gulp, quickly motioning for another one. Michelle didn’t even seem fazed by this, already grabbing the bottle.

 

“So,” said Michelle as she handed him his shot, “you going to the Halloween dance?”

 

“Yeah,” said Richie, throwing back the shot, his head already swimming. “I know you are too.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Michelle leered at him. “How do you know that?”

 

“Tommo told me.”

 

“Good ole Tommo,” sighed Michelle. She got a glint in her eye, “Is it true you sucked his dick Friday night?”

 

“I suck everyone’s dick, ‘Chelle.”

 

“ _ Yeah _ , but did you suck his?”

 

“Um, yeah. Have you seen that thing?”

 

Michelle laughed, delighted. “I have. He was my first, you know.”

 

“I do know,” said Richie, leaning back into the couch. “He couldn’t stop talking about it the first time I told him you and I fucked.” He paused, then asked, “Who was better, ‘Chelle? Him or me?”

 

Michelle pretended to think about it for a moment before smiling wickedly. “Him,” she said.

 

“What?! No way!”

 

Michelle burst out laughing. “I’m just kidding, Trashmouth. You were better,  _ believe me _ .”

 

Richie smiled, satisfied, until he remembered just why he was there. “Heeeyyy, didn’t you promise me some blow?” 

 

“I did,” said Michelle, reaching into the breast of her dress and pulling out a small, clear baggie filled with white powder. “Wanna get high as the Empire State building?”

 

“Um, hell yes?”

 

Michelle grinned and poured the white powder onto the glass surface of the coffee table in her living room while Richie pulled out his wallet to get his licence and a dollar bill. He handed the dollar bill off to Michelle to roll up while he cut up the product, sorting it into little thin white lines. Once he was done, he turned to Michelle, “Ladies first.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him but leaned down and snorted the cocaine down her nose, doing two lines. She threw her head back, saying, “I say Goddamn!”

 

Richie burst out laughing. “Did you just quote ‘Pulp Fiction’?” 

 

She flipped him off before holding out the rolled up dollar bill. He took it and snorted the remaining two lines, feeling the effects immediately. He looked up at Michelle and smiled hazily, eyes crazed and feeling like he could fight fucking God in that moment. “Hey,” he said. “Wanna fuck?”

 

She grinned. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said before she attacked him, pushing him against the couch and sticking her tongue down his mouth. 

 

Richie planted his hands on her sides, roaming up and down before cupping her pert ass through her dress, causing her to moan. He lifted up the dress, pulling at the edge of her fishnets until she pulled away and kicked off her combat boots and fishnets. She wasn’t  wearing any underwear. She usually didn’t.

 

She grabbed Richie by his curls and pulled him into another kiss. “Let’s take this to my room,” she panted against his lips. “I’d rather have sex in my room instead on the couch where my parents sit.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

He let her pull him down the hallway into her room, that was painted white with black furniture and even a black bed, which she pushed Richie down onto. They grinned at each other, falling into a familiar dance. She smushed her mouth against his again and their tongues tangled. Richie reached up under her dress and snuck a finger into her wet heat, breaking out another moan from her.

 

She straddled him, rubbing herself against his growing erection. She tugged on his black hoodie, and Richie got the picture quick, pulling the hoodie up over his head and throwing it across the room, revealing his lean, bordering on emaciated body. Michelle didn’t care, hers was the same. She pulled off her black dress, throwing it in the same direction as Richie’s hoodie, showing off her bright pink bra.

 

Richie raised a brow. “Pink?” He asked, teasing.

 

“Shut up,” said Michelle. “All of my other ones are in the wash.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Shut the hell up and fuck me already!”

 

“With pleasure, Miss Greene,” and with that, Richie rolled them over so that he was on top and unbuttoning his jeans, his hands shaking from the blow as he removed them and his boxers. He paused and said, “You got a condom?”

 

Michelle rolled her eyes and reached into her bedside table. “Always,” she said, bringing out a rubber.

 

Richie took it with a grin and set it on the bed before attacking her small breasts with his mouth through the fabric of her bra, wetting the material with his tongue before reaching behind and unclipping it, letting it fall off her form. He latched onto a rosy nipple, licking and sucking, eliciting a kitten moan from Michelle. One of his hands tweaked her other nipple while the other one branded down her side until he came upon her wetness, teasingly caressing her outer folds before plunging his finger inside, curling gently. Michelle arched up off the bed and into his mouth, causing him to grin.

 

“You like that, ‘Chelle?” He teased.

 

“Of course I do, you fucking asshat!” Michelle cursed, angling her hips so his finger would go deeper.

 

He pumped his finger in and out quickly, curling it  _ just right  _ until he coaxed her G-spot to life, causing her to see stars. He withdrew his hand and grabbed the condom, but Michelle stopped him, saying, “Let me.” They flipped over again, this time Michelle on top and taking in his large, leaking erection. 

 

She ripped open the wrapper and positioned it on the tip of his dick before rolling it down in one smooth, practiced motion. Richie groaned at the contact and his head fell upon her pillow. Michelle straddled him and placed her hands on his chest, brushing her thumbs over his nipples lightly, causing him to jerk. His nipples were always sensitive.

 

Michelle grinned and positioned herself over his cock, both of them making eye contact before she sunk down, not stopping until her bottom grazed his hips. They both let a moan at the action. Richie could extrapolate all kinds of words on the feeling of a tight heat around his dick, boy or girl. The tightness, the incredible heat that seemed to deep through his very soul, how incredibly  _ right  _ it was to have that feeling around him, all of it.

 

Michelle immediately began to bounce fast on his dick, both of them lost in the sensations of the coke mixed with sex. Richie leaned up from his spot on the bed and branded his hands all over Michelle’s body as he kissed her and they fucked fast and wet. Michelle scratched angry red lines down his back making Richie moan with pleasure and he sucked a huge bite on her neck that she for sure would have trouble covering up. 

 

He flipped them again, with Michelle on her back, and began pounding away, gripping her hips in a grip that could bruise, both of them chasing that high. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Michelle screamed, one hand in her hair, the other rubbing her clit furiously.

 

The familiar coil in Richie’s belly began to unravel and his thrusts became more and more erratic, but he still got the job done and well at that. They reached the edge together, Michelle coming with a shout and Richie with a grunt, spilling deep into the condom and then falling heavily on top of her. She smacked him on the back where the bright red scratches she left were and he rolled over and out, both of them panting heavily.

 

Richie was still buzzing. Buzzing with energy from the coke and the activity that he just did. He was feeling hyped up, ready to go. He wanted to go do something,  _ anything _ . He sat up on the bed and pulled off the condom, tying it off and throwing it in the bin. He started to haphazardly throw on his clothes while Michelle looked at him confusedly.

 

“What are you doing?” She asked.

 

“Getting ready to go fuck your Mom...or your Dad depending on my mood,” said Richie.

 

Michelle scoffed. “Fuck off, Trashmouth. What are  _ really  _ doing?” 

 

“Leaving. Isn’t it obvious?”

 

Michelle pouted. “But, don’t you wanna hang for a bit? We could do more blow~”

 

“Sorry, ‘Chelle,” said Richie, pulling on his hoodie. “I promised the boys I’d go see a movie with them tonight.”

 

“Can I come?”

 

“Sorry. Boy’s night.”

 

Michelle huffed but said no more, watching him as he finished getting dressed. He leaned over and gave her a smacking kiss on the forehead before leaving, grabbing his skateboard and backpack on the way out and sneakily doing one more line of blow that was still on the coffee table.

 

He was practically vibrating with energy as he skated away from her house and towards the direction of the actual town, looking for something to do. He was passing the alley by the movie theater when he heard a whimper, a very familiar whimper. A whimper he hadn’t heard in years.

 

He stopped his skateboard and looked around for the source of the whimper. He looked down the alleyway and what he saw made his fast-beating heart stop in his all too thin chest.

 

It was Eddie, cowering against the alley wall while Bowers and his gang kicked and punched him, calling him all kinds of insults. Richie felt his heart pound again, angry and all consuming, and he saw red, obscuring his vision until all he saw was Eddie, little Eddie Spaghetti, being whaled on because he was different. Richie could not stand for that,  _ would not  _ stand for that, so he did the only rational thing to do in that situation.

 

He jumped into the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be fun ;)
> 
> song - silly boy by the blue van


	3. and it cut me sharp, hearing you'd gone away but everything goes away, yeah everything goes away

Richie grabbed his skateboard, holding it aloft and ran forward into the alley, letting out a guttural scream. He whacked Henry Bowers on the back of the head with his skateboard, splitting it right in half as it made contact with his head. Henry Bowers went sprawling to the alley floor, clutching his head and coming away with blood.

 

“What the hell, Trashmouth?!” Patrick Hockstetter yelled, stopping his kicking to Eddie’s middle and turning on him. Belch and Vic Cross stopped too and turned to him.

 

Richie said nothing, feeling wild and struck out, punching Patrick across the face and feeling the skin split open on his knuckles. It didn’t hurt, only spurred him on further. Patrick went reeling to the ground beside Henry, who was starting to get up, pulling out his switchblade.

 

“You’re dead, Trashmouth,” Henry spat. “You’re fucking dead. Grab him,” he ordered Belch and Vic, who jumped to attention to please their oh so great leader.

 

Belch grabbed Richie by the hoodie and Vic grabbed him by the arm while Patrick shot up and grabbed his other arm, holding him up against the alley wall of the movie theater. Henry got in his face, his foul breath stinking up Richie’s nose and he gagged audibly, which only earned him a switchblade to his throat. Richie didn’t even flinch, just  _ daring  _ him to with his eyes.

 

“You know, I gave you a fucking pass because sometimes Bobby gave us the good stuff—“

 

“Fucking Bobby,” Richie spat to himself and the switchblade nicked his neck.

 

“SHUT UP!” Henry yelled. “But you, oh you, little Richie Trashmouth, just couldn’t keep well enough to yourself. Always getting in my way, fucking my shit up. You’re a fucking faggot, just like little Asthmatic Eddie here.” Richie just noticed that Eddie had gone very quiet ever since he jumped into the middle of things.

 

“Yeah, I’m a faggot,” said Richie. “It’s the fucking 21st Century, you mullet wearing asshole, get with the fucking program already you white trash, back alley, piece of shi—“ the switchblade cut deeper into his neck, a long bead of blood trickling down into his collarbone.

 

Henry looked as if he was about to do more when suddenly he was pushed off of him and the switchblade was removed from his neck. Richie looked up and saw that it was his friends: Tom, Sammy, and even Bobby. It was Bobby who pushed Henry Bowers away, a big brute of a senior who actually had a heart of gold but sometimes did stupid shit, like sell to Bowers.

 

“Bobby! What the actual fuck, man?” Henry spat at Bobby, who towered over Henry and was built like a brick house, even bigger than Belch. He was on the football team and always wore his Derry High letterman jacket, like now.

 

“What do mean, Bowers?” Bobby asked. “I should ask  _ you  _ that, man. A switchblade, really? What year do you think this is, 1958? I thought we had a deal, man.”

 

“Deal? What deal?” Richie asked, his body still buzzing from the cocaine high and the high he got from a fight, even when he just had a knife to his throat.

 

“He started it!” Henry spat. “He broke his fucking skateboard over my head!”

 

Bobby looked down to Eddie still curled up against the alley wall and seemed to recognize him. He looked at Richie. “This one of your old friends, Richie Rich?”

 

Richie nodded jerkily, sparing a crazed look at Eddie who was staring at him with wide, brown eyes, like a doe’s. His lip was bleeding and he had a black eye, but for an odd moment, Richie felt his heart squeeze inexplicably, so he turned away. 

 

Bobby looked at Bowers. “You were whaling on one of his old friends, dude. What’d you expect?”

 

“Please,” Henry scoffed, but he and his gang began to back away. “He hasn’t hung out with those Losers in years.”

 

Richie flung himself off the alley wall, ignoring the way his cut stung as he moved. He jerked himself at Bowers, trying to throw another punch, feeling absolutely unhinged from the drugs and tequila he’d taken, but Bobby and his friends grabbed him and pulled him back.

 

“See!?” yelled Bowers. “He’s fucking crazy!”

 

“No, Bowers,” said Bobby. “You’re crazy. Now get outta here before I hurt you.”

 

Henry looked at him, and seemed to actually contemplate it before deciding it wasn’t worth it and ran off with his gang, with their tails between their legs. Bobby and the others let Richie go once they were gone and Richie rounded on Bobby, pushing him, saying, “What fucking deal, Bobby?!”

 

“Dude, calm down,” Bobby was always trying to be the sane one, the leader of their little ragtag group.

 

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? What fucking deal, Bobby?” Richie yelled, getting in his face.

 

“Dude, are you high right now?”

 

In response, Richie sniffed and wiped his nose, giving his friends all the information they needed. “What.  _ deal _ ?” Richie was going to ask one more time before things got ugly.

 

Bobby sighed and exchanged a look with Tom and Sammy, who both looked uncomfortable. “When you started hanging out with us, I made a deal with Bowers that he wouldn’t whale on you if I sold to him on the side.”

 

It was quiet in that alley way for a moment. All Richie could hear was the very quiet sniffling of Eddie, still huddled against the alleyway floor and wiping at his bleeding lip. That was before Richie exploded. “WHAT?! You fucking did WHAT?!” He pushed Bobby again, shoving him a few paces back, surprising all of them. “I can take care of myself, you asshole! Why the  _ fuck _ would you do that?!”

 

“We’re friends, Richie. I didn’t want to see you get beat up everyday, you dick.”

 

“Oh, I’m a dick? I’M A DICK?!”

 

“Jesus, Richie, calm down,” said Tom, grabbing his arm. “You’re on speed, dude. You’re not thinking straight, you need to stop.”

 

Richie pushed him away. “You were in on it too, all three of you. Fuck you guys!” He turned away and looked down at Eddie once again, his heart squeezing once more but he ignored it. He knelt down and holding out a shaky hand. He smiled, but it felt wrong on his face, crazed. “Come on, Eddie Spaghetti. Let me take you home.”

 

Eddie just stared at him and his outstretched hand, before quietly whispering, “Why?”

 

Richie was a little taken aback. Eddie hadn’t even tried to tell him to stop calling him Eddie Spaghetti. “Why what, Eddie?”

 

“Why’d you help me? Stan told us what you said to him at detention today, how you--you didn’t want to hang out with us.”

 

Richie winced inside. Yeah, he  _ had _ said that. He’d honestly forgotten in the moment. “I was just...being an asshole, Eddie. You know me.”

 

“Do I?” Eddie asked, but he finally took his hand and allowed Richie to pull him to his feet, wincing and holding his bruised stomach.

 

Richie took one last look at his so-called “friends” before slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and steering him out of the alleyway, leaving them behind. They didn’t even try to stop him, feeling as though they should just let him go and take care of his old friend.

* * *

Eddie couldn’t help but stare. That’s all he seemed to do these days: stare at Richie. As he let Richie steer him out of the alleyway, and away from Richie’s friends, Eddie felt his heart speed up until he thought for one crazy moment that he was the one who took the cocaine, not Richie. Except, with the way Richie was acting, it was obvious that he had. He kept sniffing and wiping his nose, darting his large eyes around the street behind his glasses, looking crazed. Eddie would have been afraid of him, maybe, except he just witnessed Richie potentially saving his life. It had all seemed to slow down to a halt when he saw Richie crack his skateboard over Bowers’ head, sending him reeling to the ground. His heart had stopped, his breathing had stopped.  _ Everything _ had stopped.

 

He had watched, terrified, as Bowers pulled a switchblade on him, nicking him in the neck that was  _ still _ bleeding. Eddie fought with himself to try and reach over and apply pressure to the wound, stopping the bleeding. He figured that would only freak Richie out in that moment. They didn’t say anything as they walked to Eddie’s house, until they got to the front door, then Richie said, “Is your Mom home? I hope she is, it’s been a long time since me and her--”

 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie couldn’t help it, it just spilled out, but Richie didn’t seem fazed by it. He just grinned at him and Eddie continued, “No, she’s not home. She’s out with her friends, she won’t be back until late.”

 

“Your Mom has friends?” said Richie, still grinning as Eddie unlocked the door and stepped inside. He looked up, surprised as Richie stepped inside also. 

 

“Yeah, I know,  _ shocking _ ,” said Eddie, not helping the smile on his face. How was it so easy to fall into a rhythm with Richie, when they’ve barely exchanged a dozen words in the past four years and now they are joking and Richie’s in his house, like old times.

 

Eddie walked into the kitchen and opened the cabinet where all the medicine was still held, even after all these years, along with a first aid kit. He heard Richie banging around behind him and turned to see him holding a dish rag and pouring some ice from the freezer into it. “What are you doing?” Eddie asked him.

 

“We need to ice that black eye of yours, pal. It looks pretty gnarly, man,” grinned Richie.

 

“And what about you,  _ man _ ?” teased Eddie, waving the first aid kit in his face. “That cut on your neck is pretty  _ sick _ ,  _ man _ .”

 

Richie grinned and they exchanged the things in their hands. Eddie pressed the cold compress to his face, wincing as he did so. It hurt, a lot. Eddie had ignored it up until that point, focused solely on Richie and his all-encompassing presence. Richie fumbled open the first aid kit and found the antiseptic and started wiping at his cut, wincing a little also. 

 

Eddie watched him, until he couldn’t contain it anymore. “Why’d you help me?” He asked silently.

 

Richie looked up at him, as if he’d been lost in thought. “I told you, Eddie Spaghetti.”

 

“Don’t call me that, and no, you didn’t. You avoided the question.”

 

“I didn’t avoid anything.”

 

“Bullshit,” said Eddie. “You avoid everything. You avoided us, for years. You--you avoided  _ me _ .”

 

Richie stared at him, silent. Eddie thought it was so weird that Richie was being so silent now, he was  _ never  _ silent when they were young,  _ never _ . “I helped you, Eddie, because you ar-- _ were _ my friend. I wasn’t going to stand for Bowers beating up on you because you’re what? Different? Small?”

 

“Gay,” said Eddie quietly. “I’m gay, Richie.”

 

Richie paused, surprised. “You are?”

 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. You used to joke about it all the time when we were kids.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually  _ were _ , not really,” he paused then added quickly, “Not that I mind, of course.”

 

Eddie laughed a little. “I figured.”

 

Richie blinked. “Oh, right. I’m bisexual.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re bisexual.”

 

Richie erupted into giggles. “I forgot about that for a second, oops.”

 

Eddie laughed. “You’re so fucking stupid, Trashmouth.”

 

“Yeah? Your  _ Mom _ didn’t think so last night~” Richie waggled his eyebrows at him and Eddie rolled his eyes again.

 

“Beep fucking beep Richie.”

 

Richie stuck out his tongue at him and they both laughed. Eddie felt his heart clench and unclench at the sound of Richie’s laughter. Laughter just between the two of them. It had been  _ so  _ long…

 

Their laughter died down after a few moments, and Richie just stared at him. Like  _ stared _ . Eddie started to feel uncomfortable but he couldn’t look away from his brown eyes, enlarged by his glasses and by the coke that was slowly but surely filtering out of his system. It got quiet again, eerily quiet, and for the first time, Eddie decided to fill the silence instead of Richie. “Hey, Richie?”

 

Richie jerked himself out of whatever dazed he was in and said roughly, “Yeah?”

 

“Maybe...maybe you shouldn’t be mad at your friends for doing what they did,” Eddie said, looking resolutely into his eyes although he wanted more than anything to look at the floor, wishing for it swallow him up. He usually was never one to back down from confrontation, if that even was what this was, especially with Richie, but...things had changed.

 

Richie looked at him,  _ really _ looked at him, and said, “That’s what you think, Eds?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” automatic response, then, “Yeah, that’s what I think. They didn’t mean to hurt you, I’d actually feel pretty flattered if my friends had that much hold over Bowers to stop him from whaling on me.”

 

“You would, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I would. I  _ wish _ that happened to me, then maybe my knees wouldn’t be so fucking scraped up all the time and my Mom would stop looking at me like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like, I’m a fucking disappointment. Like I disgust her because I’m gay--”

 

“Dude, seriously, did you learn nothing from the summer of ‘13?  _ Fuck your Mom _ , for real. And I didn’t mean that as a joke, by the way.”

 

“Oh, you’re being serious for once in your fucking life?”

 

“Yeah,” Richie laughed, checking his wound to see if it stopped bleeding and it had, so he pulled out a bandaid. “Yeah, for once in my fucking life I’m being dead fucking serious. Your Mom is a total bitch, and I don’t mean that in a good way. You remember how she treated me?”

 

Eddie smiled a sad smile. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

 

“I mean, to be fair, that’s how everyone treats me soooo....”

 

“Tha--that’s not true,” said Eddie abruptly. “I--I never treated you like that...did I?”

 

Richie was silent for a moment as he put the bandaid over his cut, then he said, “No, Eddie. No, you didn’t.” 

 

“And I don’t think your friends treat you that way, either,” continued Eddie, contented with the fact that he wasn’t one of the ones who treated Richie like pure shit, despite all of their bickering. “You always seem so happy when you’re with them…” Eddie trailed off, remembering how happy Richie used to be with the Losers Club, laughing and joking with them, always there for you, even if he acted like an asshole, like he proved to Eddie today. The soul of the group, truly. It felt a little stale without Richie after all these years, to be honest.

 

Richie looked off and seemed to be thinking about something. His eyes went glazed for a moment before he shook himself and said, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, Eds.”

 

“Don’t call me that. And of fucking course I am. I’ve always been right, remember?” Eddie teased lightly, smiling haughtily at him.

 

Richie chuckled at him again and stared at him with an inexplicable expression on his face. “Yeah, yeah you have been.” He looked around the kitchen for a moment then said, “I, uh, I think I’m gonna go and, uh,  _ apologize _ to my friends. Are you going to be okay?”

 

“You mean after my Mom kills me for this black eye and takes me to the emergency room?” Eddie laughed. “Yeah, I’m going to be okay. I’ve long since been used to Bowers and his fucked up ways.”

 

Richie scoffed and shook his head. “Fucking Bowers. I’ll kill him if he ever goes near you again, you understand? Just say the fucking word and I’ll end him.”

 

“I, uh, don’t think we need to add  _ murder _ to your list of offences, Richie. Don’t worry about it. I can handle myself, have been all these years.”

 

Richie looked away awkwardly, and nodded. “Well, see ya around Eds.”

 

He was halfway out the door when Eddie called him back. “Richie?” He turned around and they locked eyes, brown on brown, chocolate on chestnut and Eddie said, “Thanks for today.  _ Really _ .”

 

Richie smiled, his first real, light up the world smile since he brought Eddie home, making Eddie’s chest physically hurt and not just from the whaling Bowers had given him earlier. “No problem, Eds. I’ll always be your knight in tarnished armor.” And with that, he walked out the front door of Eddie’s house and was gone.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie whispered to the empty air.

* * *

 

It was bizarre, so fucking bizarre.

 

Talking with Eddie like that, standing in his house just like old times, joking around...It was almost as if Richie had never left, had never  _ abandoned _ him, because that’s what he did, he  _ abandoned _ him, abandoned all of them. Richie had never thought it about it that way before, but when he looked into Eddie’s face that late afternoon, bruised and bloodied, and saw the look in his eyes, the desperate sadness in them that Richie was sure Eddie didn’t even know he projected, he knew what he had done. 

 

And he hated himself for it, but he couldn’t look back, he just couldn’t. It was too late for that…

 

He left Eddie’s house with this tight feeling in his chest that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he tried to focus on other things. It stayed there, like a bad itch, never letting up, never giving Richie peace. 

 

As Richie walked with his hands in his hoodie, heading to the one place he knew where his friends would be at this time of day, he thought about Eddie and just how... _ iridescent _ he looked that day. There was no other word for it, Eddie was iridescent. Now that Richie thought about it, Eddie had always been iridescent, glowing in a different way than the other Losers. Ever since Richie could remember, he had always thought Eddie was beautiful, inside and out. Everything from his hypochondria to his asthma and stinging attitude that always seemed to fit Richie’s so perfectly. 

 

He always had a feeling Eddie’s Mother could see what he thought of her boy, which was why she always hated him most of all. Richie couldn’t understand why. Shouldn’t she be happy that someone thought Eddie should be as cherished as she thought he did? Although Richie would never hold Eddie back the way she did, never letting him do anything fun or heaven forbid, be a kid.

 

Richie saw the haunted look on Eddie’s face in his mind’s eye when he mentioned his Mother and how she looked at him with so much disappointment now that she knew that he was gay. Eddie, his little Eddie Spaghetti, gay. 

 

Richie paused. Did he just fucking call Eddie _ his _ ? He shook himself, trying to will that particular train of thought away. It wouldn’t do good to dwell on that, not now, not ever. 

 

He focused his mind on something else, like what he was going to say to his friends now that his high was wearing off. He always knew that doing blow for him was a bad idea, what with his ADHD and sometimes disturbed mental state, but he couldn’t help it. He was destroying his life, just like he was always meant to. It was practically written in the stars from the day of his birth. Richie was only giving the cosmos what they wanted, after all.

 

He spotted his friends just where he knew they’d be, shooting the shit in the park, although they looked decidedly subdued. Tom was the first one to notice Richie walking up, and took in his unusually quiet state and motioned to the other guys.

 

“Hey, Richie,” said Tom hesitantly, as if expecting another fight. “Your friend okay?”

 

“He’s not my friend,” said Richie automatically and instantly regretted it. “I mean—yeah, he’s okay. A little bruised but he’ll be fine.”

 

“Good,” said Tom, looking at the others. “That’s good.”

 

Silence filled the air, awkward and heavy, until Richie finally spoke. “Guys, I’m—I’m really sorry for the way I acted earlier. I was high and—“

 

Bobby held up a hand, smiling a little. “Say no more, Richie Rich. We’re not mad at you or anything. We understood your anger. It was wrong of me to go behind your back like that and I promise to never associate with fucking Bowers ever again.”

 

Richie gave a wry smile. “Even if he beats the shit outta me?”

 

“We’ll beat the shit outta him first,” said Sammy vehemently. “We gotta stand up for our own, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Now, come on. Let’s get shitfaced and forget all about it, man,” said Tom, holding up a bottle of cheap wine.

 

Richie grinned. “What are we, high society chaps? Pip pip and tally ho, my good fellows. It’s time to get blackout drunk and maybe a little sky high!”

 

Bobby smiled wide and clapped him on the back. “There he is.”

 

Richie grinned wider and tried to ignore that aching in his chest, pulling him backwards, pulling him towards  _ him _ . He grabbed the bottle of wine out of Tom’s hand and chugged. Chugged until he could feel nothing but pure light.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, Richie's friends are actually good guys just...lost too...they all need some help whether they know it or not...
> 
> song - always gold by radical face


	4. i know you hurt too but what else can we do, tormented and torn apart

The rest of the week for Richie was pretty much of the same. He stayed out late with his friends, got shitfaced drunk, then went to school the next morning hungover as hell, feeling as though his head was about to pound of out his skull, but he didn’t stop.  _ Couldn’t  _ stop. He finished his second day of detention with flying colors, even coming early so they couldn’t give an excuse to give him another one, then he went to Bobby’s house and did blow till his nose felt raw. Richie’s parents didn’t know or didn’t care about their son’s activities, not that it mattered much to him anyway. It already felt like they had died or something, for they were never around anyways, and never talked or looked at him when they were, the fuckers.

 

Richie did his best to avoid the Losers Club, bar Bev, because well, he could never really shake Bev, no matter how hard he tried. The one person he really didn’t want to shake off, he did, and they hadn’t so much as looked in each other’s direction since that day after school on Monday. Richie did what he always did, he avoided. 

 

Just like Eddie said.

 

_ Fucking Eddie… _

 

Richie  _ especially _ avoided thinking about him: about his curly, brown hair, or his small frame, or his soft lips (Richie bet a million dollars they were as soft as silk), or the pastels that he wore. No, Richie avoided thinking about  _ any  _ of that. Not at school, not at home,  _ definitely _ not while he was shitfaced with his friends. And if he staggered home every night by his house, pausing for a minute to look up into his bedroom window, light off, then that was nobody’s business but his own.

 

On Wednesdays and Thursdays, Richie worked his shitty job at the shitty gas station that was one of the first things one saw as they passed the sign that said: Welcome to Derry! And underneath that, Richie and his friends had spray painted once: Beware! Your soul  _ dies _ here! No one ever found out it was them, though there were definitely people who suspected. They still hadn’t painted over it yet, and it had been  _ months _ . Just another reason in a long list of reasons that the people in Derry just really didn’t give one flying shit.

 

Richie had Bobby drive him to work, since the walk was too far from school for him not to be there late and his beloved skateboard was broken over the head of one Henry fucking Bowers. There was no way Richie was ever going to be able to replace it, not with the way his money went to drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, and the basic necessities of food and toilet paper. Bobby was more than happy to, always willing to help a friend out, especially with one as lost as Richie. Richie suspected, out of all of his friends, he was the one that was the most fucked up. 

 

He worked from four to six and got paid minimum wage, barely enough to scrape by, but Richie was nothing if not a good saver... _ annndddd _ he occasionally filched the rich people’s wallets, but that was only when he was like  _ really _ desperate. Like today, Friday. It was after school and he was killing some time until he met up with his friends again. His leather jacket was on, for it was absolutely freezing out in Derry, Maine, and he was loitering outside the movie theater, smoking his sixth cigarette of the day, and it wasn’t even five o’clock yet. It was also his last cigarette and he had no money left to buy more. His face was impassive as he stood outside the movie theater, but inside he was panicking, big time. Like full on, Eddie-style panicking. He wanted more cigarettes--no he  _ needed _ more cigarettes. Sue him, but he was addicted to the little cancer sticks, like a lot of other things. He knew, rationally, that he should just wait until Bobby came by in his truck and ask him for the few bucks to buy more, because Bobby was always willing to fork out money to his cancer addiction, considering he also had one, but on that particular day, Richie couldn’t wait. He needed the money,  _ now _ .

 

And as he stood outside the movie theater, surveying the main street of Derry, he saw his perfect target. This lady was sitting on one of the benches outside one of the many corner stores, this one was special though. It was one of the expensive ones, one that only rich people could even begin to afford. And this lady looked rich. She had perfectly styled hair, a blowout as Bev had told him once, and a nice expensive looking winter coat. She was rummaging through her purse while talking on the most recent (and most expensive) iPhone on the market and she seemed to be arguing with someone. Richie smirked, easy peasy. He stubbed out his cigarette and made his way across the street and sat next to her on the bench, making himself look lost and small, which was a bit of a challenge. 

 

The lady seemed to have found what she was looking for, a piece of paper with a number written on it, and when she pulled her hand out of her nice leather purse, her wallet slid halfway out, ripe for the taking. Richie glanced at her and saw that she was looking in the complete opposite direction, completely oblivious to him and his intentions. And then, it was as simple as sliding his hand swiftly inside her purse and nicking her wallet, quickly stuffing it in the inside pocket of his jacket and getting up and walking away. The lady never knew what hit her and she would never know it was Richie.

 

Richie walked down the street, grinning wide at the feel of the heavy wallet pressed inside his jacket, high on the feeling of stealing and not getting caught. He spotted a familiar redhead walking out of the drug store and grinned even wider, picking up his pace until he was far away from the lady and towards Bev. 

 

“Hey! Hey, Bev!” He called, waving one leather clad arm.

 

Bev turned around and looked up. She was texting on her phone. She smiled when she saw him, “Hey, Loser!” She reached up and ruffled his messy black curls. “What’s up, buttercup?”

 

“Nothing, Bev-Bev,” he said. He wasn’t about to mention his most recent activity, he had a feeling she wouldn’t exactly approve, no matter how cool she was with getting high and stuff. “Just taking a nice stroll through this shitty town, ya know? What about you? Got your kotex in there or what?” He reached for her drug store bag but she swatted him away with a “Beep beep, Richie.”

 

“No, seriously, what’s in the bag?”

 

“Just girl stuff, Trashmouth. None of your concern,” Bev said. Her face turned serious and Richie felt his heart pick up. “Hey, I, uh, I never got the chance to thank you, ya know, for helping Eddie the other day with fucking Bowers?”

 

Richie scoffed. “Fucking Bowers.” Then he shrugged, he had figured Eddie hadn’t told the other Losers about what had transpired between them Monday, seeing as though none of them said anything to him, but of course he did. “It’s okay. I won’t let anyone get whaled on by fucking Bowers, Bev.”

 

“Well, anyways,  _ thank you _ . Eddie told us not to say anything to you, but I just wanted to say anyways. Things haven’t been easy for him, ya know. Being--”

 

“Gay. Yeah, he told me,” said Richie, looking anywhere but Bev’s face, which he felt could read his innermost thoughts just by looking into his eyes. “Is he--is he okay?”

 

“Who? Eddie?”

 

“No, fucking Bowers. Of course Eddie, ya numbnuts!”

 

Bev laughed. “Yeah, he’s okay. A little bruised, but he’ll heal. We all do.” Richie had a feeling that last line was meant for him, but he ignored it.

 

“Well, that’s good—for Eds, I mean,” said Richie awkwardly. When did he get so awkward? “I, uh, gotta go meet with my friends.”

 

“What are you guys doing?” Bev asked.

 

“Party tonight,” said Richie. “At Sammy’s house.”

 

“A party? That’s cool.”

 

“Yeah. You can come if you want…”

 

“Can I bring the other Losers?”

 

“Um, sure, if they want to that is,” Richie wanted to scream no! No! What if he saw Eddie there, while he wasted? What would he do? Richie tried to reconcile himself with the fact that Eddie probably wouldn’t come. Parties didn’t seem like his kind of scene.

 

“Cool,” Bev smiled bright, then her phone dinged and she looked down frowned slightly. “Ah, shit. I have to go. I promised my Aunt I’d help her set up the house for her annual ‘Adults Only’ Halloween party. What time is the party at Sammy’s?”

 

“9:30. And it’s 80s themed.”

 

“9:30 and 80s themed, got it,” just at that moment, Bobby’s truck came roaring down the street and stopped next to where Bev and Richie were standing. 

 

“Hey, Bev,” said Bobby, a little nervously. It was no secret to the group that he had a huge crush on her. “Need a lift home?”

 

“No, thanks Bobby,” said Bev nicely. “Home isn’t that far of a walk.”

 

“Really, it’s no troub—“ he got cut off by Sammy hitting him in the arm and he glared at him. “I mean, okay. See you, Bev.”

 

“See you tonight,” and then Bev was gone down the street.

 

Richie hopped into the back of the truck with Tom who immediately slung his arm around Richie’s shoulders as Bobby pulled away and asked, “Tonight? Did you—”

 

“Invite her to the party tonight? Yes,” said Richie, stealing a smoke from Tom’s pack and lighting up, letting the acrid smoke fill his lungs.

 

“Awesome, dude. You’re just—awesome!” Bobby crowed, steering them towards Sammy’s empty house. His parents were gone  _ somewhere _ for the weekend, and Sammy decided to throw a Halloween rager before the less exciting Halloween dance at school on Tuesday. 

 

“So, Bobby already bought four kegs. They’re in the back and I bought streamers and a ‘Totally 80s’ CD, plus a few playlists on my phone. Tom brought the party lights and the drugs, Michelle is bringing the other drinks and a few 80s clothes for us and you—“

 

“Are bringing my awesome wit and jokes, got it!” said Richie.

 

Sammy rolled his eyes but nodded as they pulled into his driveway. They helped Bobby roll the kegs out into the backyard and then began setting up the house: stringing up the lights and streamers, clearing off the living room of anything breakable (just because Sammy’s parents were neglectful didn’t mean they wouldn’t punish their son if their heirlooms got broken), set up the bar full of all kinds of drinks that Michelle got from the liquor store for free because she blew the clerk.

 

“Gross, ‘Chelle,” Richie has said when Michelle told them as they helped heave in the bags full of booze into the house. “The dude’s like forty.”

 

“Forty- _ five _ and he has a nice dick, so I wasn’t complaining...besides, haven’t you done worse?” Michelle teased.

 

Richie stuck his tongue out at her but said nothing, cracking open a beer at 7:45, after getting ready in his dirty jeans and Converse and his leather jacket, with nothing underneath. He gelled his hair in an 80s style with help from Michelle and they shared a blunt, while the others got ready. Sammy was going as Marty McFly and Bobby was going as Emilio Estevez from the Breakfast Club since he already had blue letterman jacket, and Tom was going as Richie’s 80s twin, since they looked so much alike anyways.

 

As per usual with a party, there were people who showed up early, around 8:30, by the time 9:30 rolled around the party was in full swing, music blasting and people grinding on the dance floor (the cleared out living room space). Richie was well on his way to blackout drunk, with his prescription sunglasses on his face, dancing to Thriller with his friends and some girl grinding against his groin when he spotted the old Losers Club walk through the front door, fighting themselves through the throngs of drunk and high people. Richie froze in his dancing when he saw Eddie there, looking very uncomfortable but very cute in an old 80s pastel sweatshirt that Richie suspected was meant for a girl, and acid wash jeans with a cute little pastel yellow fanny pack clipped around his waist.

 

Richie unceremoniously shoved the girl off his groin and stumbled over to them, screaming at Bev over the music. “Bev! Heeeyyyyy Bev-Bev! Sooooo glad you could make it!” He slurred, a red solo cup of vodka and Coke in his hand and an ecstasy pill dissolved on his tongue.

 

Beverly looked beautiful. She coiffed her hair in a perfect, curly 80s style, looking like Molly Ringwald from Breakfast Club except with longer hair. Richie spared a thought that Bobby would be excited, except sorely disappointed because Ben was dressed in a convincing outfit of Judd Nelson’s Bender  _ and  _ they were holding hands. Richie stumbled into them, almost spilling his drink all over them but stopping it in the last second.

 

“Woah, slow down there punk,” Bev laughed, straightening him. “How much have you had to drink?”

 

“Not much,” Richie slurred. At her disbelieving eyebrow raise, he continued, “Not much, I swear! Just a few beers and couple of vodkas and Coke.”

 

“A couple?”

 

“Okay, like four. You want?” He shoved his cup into Bev’s hand. “I can get another.”

 

“Um, sure,” Bev took a sip and then looked at him. “This is more vodka than Coke.”

 

“I know, it’s great right?” He looked past her,  and saw Eddie staring at him with his big brown doe eyes and he grinned, so drunk he forgot he was supposed to be avoiding him. “EDDIE! Eds! Eddie Spaghetti!”

* * *

Eddie wanted to grimace, to show that he was displeased that Richie was so drunk, but he couldn’t help but smile a little at his enthusiasm. Richie had always had enthusiasm, it was infectious. Richie reached past Bev and Ben and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his friends. “Come on! Let’s get you drunk, Spaghetti Man!”

 

“That’s not my name!” Eddie protested but let him pull him away, after sparing a glance at Bev who just gave him a thumbs up as he was dragged away.

 

“Come on, come on,” Richie was saying. “Let’s get you some spoopy juice.”

 

“Uh,  _ spoopy juice _ ?” Eddie asked as Richie pulled him to a glass bowl filled with some sort of orange looking punch.

 

“Yeah,” said Richie, clumsily pouring Eddie a cup. “Don’t, uh, don’t ask what’s in it. Might upset your delicate sensibilities.”

 

“I’m not delicate,” Eddie mumbled and grabbed the cup from him, chugging it in one go. He sputtered a little as the alcohol went down his throat but didn’t spit it out.

 

Richie whooped at him and poured him a refill. As he handed him back the cup, he said hesitantly, “Your face is looking better.”

 

That was true. His black eye was easing up and Bev had spent a good twenty minutes that night trying to cover the worst of it up with concealer and his split lip was healing fine. It didn’t even hurt when he put on his Strawberry Lip Smackers just before he left, it sitting comfortably in his fanny pack that he had found a long time ago in the town’s thrift store when he still used one for his all of his medicine and inhaler.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” said Eddie, taking smaller gulps of the spoopy juice but still finishing it rather quickly. He was already beginning to feel the effects, it probably wasn’t good that he hadn’t eaten since lunch and whatever in that juice was most likely incredibly strong.

 

“Your Mom kill you?” Richie slurred, leaning in close. So close, Eddie could swear Richie could feel his pounding heartbeat through his clothes.

 

“Um, almost. She took me to the emergency room, like I said.”

 

“Ouch. That sucks  _ major  _ ass,” said Richie, rocking a little to the next song that was playing. Eddie tried with all his might not to look at Richie’s exposed stomach underneath his leather jacket.

 

“Yeah, it did. It’s a miracle my Mom even let me go out tonight, mostly because I told her we were just spending the night at Bill’s.”

 

Richie grinned and nudged him with his elbow in the side. “Ooh. Bad boy, I like it. Your Mom likes it too, she told me.”

 

“Shut up,” Eddie laughed, taking a large gulp of the juice.

 

Silence ensued for a moment before another song started and Richie lit up, grabbing Eddie’s hand. Eddie nearly gasped. It felt like electricity ran through their hands like a current and he  _ knew _ that Richie felt it too, for their eyes locked for a moment. Eddie thought maybe Richie would pull away but he didn’t, he only pulled him in closer. “Hey,” Richie said, his voice smoky. “You wanna dance?”

 

“You wanna dance, with me?” Eddie squeaked. At Richie’s silent nod, he said, “I have to warn you, I’m a terrible dancer.”

 

Richie laughed. “I doubt that,” he said, pulling him to the dance floor as ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ by The Clash blared through the state of the art speakers in Sammy’s house. “Just—move your body to the music, like this—“ Richie began rocking his body in a fluid grace movement that Eddie didn’t know Richie possessed but he was pleasantly surprised. Richie grabbed his hand again and there it was, that electricity. Richie and Eddie began moving to the beat, Eddie a little awkwardly but Richie seemed to appreciate it so Eddie didn’t stop.

 

They danced wildly to a few songs until one came on that made them pause and look at each other in wonder. It was  _ their  _ song, from when they were little and exploring Richie’s Dad’s old cassettes.

 

It was ‘Africa’ by Toto.

* * *

Richie was rolling. He was rolling on the ecstasy he had taken that was really beginning to affect him, if the way he was seeing Eddie was any indication. As ‘Africa’ began to play around him, he watched as Eddie began to glow again, a halo forming around his body, even with his sunglasses on his face.

 

_ Iridescent… _

 

Richie couldn’t help himself. The logical part of his brain, that was very much silenced in this moment, was trying to scream at him to leave Eddie alone, to not mix him up with Richie, because it was only going to lead to heartbreak, but Richie didn’t listen. He listened to high side of his brain (and his heart) that was screaming for him to take Eddie’s hand and dance with him,  _ really _ dance with him. After all, this was  _ their  _ song…

 

“My lord,” Richie grinned, holding out a hand for Eddie to take, “would you do me thy greatest honor of dancing with me?”

 

Eddie laughed, “We are already are dancing, idiot.” But he took Richie’s hand nonetheless and laughed even louder as Richie spun him into his arms, ever the charmer. Richie grinned at Eddie’s laugh. He’d forgotten how much he’d loved the sound. How much he missed it…

 

Richie twirled Eddie again and then they started to slow dance, Richie putting his hands on Eddie’s hips and Eddie hesitantly putting his arms around Richie’s neck. Eddie didn’t really know what to do, which Richie thought was adorable, so he lead him and it was--

 

_ Magnetic _ .

 

“Remember when we used to listen to this song all the time in your parent’s garage?” Eddie was asking as they danced. “You’d do the weirdest dance moves: the monkey bars, the peace signs, the ‘rockstar’ as you called it, and you always tried to get me to join in.”

 

Richie laughed. “Yeah. And I remember you never did, you’d just watch me and laugh. I was beginning to think you thought my dancing was horrible.”

 

“Oh, it  _ was _ horrible,” Eddie said, grinning.

 

“Oh, yeah? What about now?” Richie whispered, bringing his face close to Eddie’s their noses barely starting to brush against one another. Just a little further and Richie could be touching those plush lips, so starkly different to his chapped ones.

 

“I--” Eddie began. Richie leaned in further, he had a feeling that what Eddie was going to say was going to be meaningful, it always was. Eddie opened his mouth, “It’s not so bad now. You got rhythm this time.”

 

Richie threw his head back and laughed. He loved Eddie and his sass. “Oh, I got rhythm  _ this _ time, you say?”

 

“Yeah, this time.” Richie watched him giggle for a moment and his heart did that thing again. It got all tight and suddenly, Richie needed to say something. Something profound. Something to make up for the years that he wasn’t around.

 

“Eddie?” Richie said, quieter now that Eddie had to lean in to hear him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I--” But he didn’t get far, for suddenly ‘Africa’ ended and ‘I’m So Excited’ began, and Richie felt an arm that wasn’t Eddie’s wrap around his shoulder, cutting him off.

 

“Hey, dude, sorry to interrupt, but Michelle is throwing up in the bushes outside and Sammy will kill her if you don’t take care of it,” it was Tom, and Richie wanted to kill him in that moment, but he saw the genuine remorsefulness in his eyes, so he decided to forgive him. 

 

He turned to Eddie, and saw that whatever spell that was between them had been broken, for he was already backing away with a tight smile on his face. “You go,” Eddie said. “I’m gonna go--find my friends.”

 

Richie’s chest ached for a moment at the way Eddie said “ _ my friends _ ” but he knew it shouldn’t. Eddie was right, they weren’t Richie’s friends anymore,  _ Eddie  _ wasn’t Richie’s friend anymore, so why the hell was he dancing with him? Why did he want to--

 

“Dude, are you gonna go or what?” Tom was saying, looking at him expectantly.

 

Richie turned to him and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’m going.” He spared another look in Eddie’s direction, but when he looked his way, he was already gone, lost in the sea of people.

 

He found Michelle passed out in the bushes and quickly picked her up through his own drunken haze, carrying her through the house and into Sammy’s bedroom, gently laying her down on his bed. He drunkenly wiped away the vomit around her lips and pulled Sammy’s comforter over her, staying with her for a few minutes to make sure she was breathing okay because he had no idea what she took before leaving the room, but not before locking the door. You never knew what kind of sickos came out at night at a party…

 

He went back downstairs, Whitney Houston blasting on the speakers and throngs of drunken people dancing their asses off to the music. Richie loved it when parties got like this, he absolutely  _ thrived  _ off the energy that the people exuded. He jumped back into the fray, jumping and jiving his body to the music and screaming “I wanna dance with somebody!” with all the others. He danced for like, ten songs, breathless and sweaty, until he spotted the other Losers through his drunken haze.

 

He spotted Bill and Stan in the corner, Bill dressed as Teen Wolf and Stan as an 80s preppy boy (of course), with Bill lightly kissing Stan on the lips, grinning at the way Stan grinned, both of them holding one of the weaker beers in their hands. Bev and Ben were on the dance floor with Richie, and Ben was absolutely killing it at the robot, much to the delight of the onlookers. Mike was there too, cheering Ben on, dressed as Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’. Richie thought he looked cool. He was sorely disappointed though, when he didn’t see Eddie around again, at least for his first look around the room. 

 

He danced up to Bev, leaning precariously over her. He was overcome with an urge to run his hands through her hair, for he knew that it was as soft as a rose, but he caught Ben’s eye and thought better of it, which was a feat considering his high mind. “Hey, Bev-Bev! Where’s Eddie Spaghetti?”

 

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “I thought he was with you.”

 

_ Oh shit! _

 

Richie nearly ran to Stan and Bill, still exchanging loving kisses in the corner. “Hey! Hey guys! Where’s Eddie?”

 

They nearly jumped apart with surprise, but when they saw it was him, they calmed down considerably. Bill looked at him and stuttered, “W-we thought he wa-was with you.”

 

Richie was now incredibly agitated. These guys were useless, utterly useless. Didn’t they know they needed to make sure Eddie didn’t do anything stupid? 

 

_ Like dance with you _ said a vindictive voice in his head, but he pushed it away.

 

“Well, he’s not. He’s not with Bev, Ben, or Mike either,” Richie was sobering up. What if Eddie was cornered by some bully or worse, by a potential suitor, trying to fend them off but they wouldn’t budge. 

 

“Check the bathroom,” said Stan, already turning back to Bill. “He sometimes goes there when things get too much for him, probably like this party.”

 

Richie ignored the slight jab and turned away, heading for the bathroom. Why didn’t he think of that? Of fucking course Eddie would be there, probably having a panic attack. He came upon the first floor bathroom and jerked it open, not even sparing a thought to think that someone might be on the toilet or making out in there. 

 

Oh, there was somebody making out in there...and it was Eddie.

 

Eddie, looking rumpled and drunk, kissing the lips of one Adrian Taylor, the school’s resident girly boy. They seemed really into it, until Richie had busted the door open and they jumped apart. Adrian looked at him, angry, “Um, what the hell, dude? Ever heard of knocking?”

 

Eddie looked up at him, drunk and in seeming shock. He was desperately trying to right his sweatshirt, which was rucked up around his navel. Richie smiled tightly, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach, as if he needed the toilet that Eddie was currently sat on. “Sorry, I was just looking for my friend. And I found him.” he reached inside the bathroom and grabbed Eddie’s arm, pulling him out, despite his protests.

 

Richie pulled him all the way through the dance floor, an iron grip on Eddie’s arm, with Eddie fighting him all the while, angry and drunk. Finally, once they were up the steps to the second story of the house, Eddie pulled himself away. “WHAT THE HELL, RICHIE?!” He screamed, drunk out of his mind.

 

“Are you seriously asking  _ me _ that?” Richie was angry, so angry, and he didn’t even know why...at least he thought he didn’t. “Adrian Taylor, really?”

 

“Why the fuck do you care?!” Eddie screamed drunkenly. “You’re not even my friend anymore.”

 

“Eddi--”

 

“NO! No, Richie! You--you  _ ignored  _ me, ignored  _ all of us _ for FOUR YEARS! For, like, no reason at all! No fucking reason! You didn’t call, you didn’t explain, you just left us. You left--you left _ me _ .” Eddie looked so broken by that statement that Richie just wanted to wrap him in his arms and never let go. But Eddie continued, “It--IT’S  _ BULLSHIT _ !”

 

“Eds--”

 

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Eddie screamed. “It’s  _ bullshit. You’re bullshit _ . You can’t ignore me for four fucking years and then suddenly appear in my life and tell me what to do or who to--who to  _ fuck _ ! I’ve never told  _ you _ that, although you could  _ do so much better _ than fucking Michelle! Adrian  _ never  _ ignored me. He’s my friend, and I--I wanted to kiss him for a  _ long _ time, a  _ looooonnnggg _ time, you ass! You ruined  _ everything! _ You always ruin everything! I HATE YOU!”

 

Silence ensued. Richie felt as if something had just taken his heart and ripped it into a million pieces and then stomped on it, before stuffing it back in his chest, smashed and broken. Eddie just looked at him, drunk and resolute, sniffing a little bit at the tears that escaped his eyes. Richie set his jaw, feeling angry again and mean. “Fine,” he said. “Go back to that fucking pussy and I’ll gladly get out of your life again.”

 

“ _ Good!”  _ screamed Eddie, and he stomped off, clutching to the wall for support. 

 

Richie stood there and watched him go, feeling his own tears threatening to fall. How did everything go  _ so wrong, so fast _ ? He hated himself, more than ever, and all he wanted to do was to drown himself. Drown himself in liquor and drugs, until he couldn’t feel anymore. Couldn’t feel the way Eddie had just--had just--

 

_ Broken his heart _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys :(
> 
> this is supposed to be a very angsty story, so there's that...
> 
> on a happier note: have any of y'all binged season 2 of Stranger Things? Episode One is what inspired this chapter:)
> 
> song - all out of love by air supply


	5. spend my days locked in a haze, trying to forget you babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my tumblr for updates and other goodies: http://lookingaroundforlife.tumblr.com/

“Come on, man. You need to get up,” Someone was speaking to him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t tell who it was. Richie’s head was all fuzzy and his mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. He was lying... _ somewhere _ ...his back resting on something hard. Like a floor, yeah a floor.

 

“Huh?” Richie’s reply came garbled. He couldn’t see who it was who was talking to him. His sunglasses had disappeared on him sometime in the night, during the party.

 

_ The party… _

 

_ Oh shit _ he thought, and instantly shot up and puked, all over the person’s shoes. 

 

“Richie! What the fuck, dude?!” Now, Richie recognized that voice through his puking haze. It was Tom and he had just puked all over his Converse.

 

“Tom,” he choked out. “S—sorry, man.” He collapsed back down on the floor but Tom wasn’t having it, grabbing his arm and hauling him up.

 

“Uh-uh,” said Tom, supporting him up. “We gotta sober you up, man and clean Sammy’s house up... _ and  _ my fucking shoes.”

 

Richie groaned, leaning his head in the juncture of Tom’s neck. “I’m really, really fucking sorry.”

 

Tom laughed and he half dragged him to the couch, which was miraculously devoid of people, at least that Richie could see. Tom settled Richie into the couch and then pulled something out of his leather jacket pocket. “Here,” he said. “I figured you’d misplace them in the night so I put them on my person.” Richie squinted up at him, uncomprehending, until he felt more than saw Tom lean forward and press something on his face.

 

His glasses.

 

Richie could see Tom clearly now, and he almost laughed if that wouldn’t hurt the Conga drum beat in his head at the moment. Tom looked almost as bad as he felt. His hair was sticking up in every direction and his leather jacket was askew. His eyes were severely bloodshot and there were dark circles underneath, almost as bad as Richie’s perpetual ones. Richie looked down and grimaced, his puke was absolutely  _ covering _ Tom’s Converse, though he seemed pretty nonplussed about it. To be fair, Tom had done worse to Richie.

 

“Hey, Richie Rich!” said Bobby from behind the couch. Bobby  _ never _ seemed to have a hangover, the fucker, and he was smiling wide as he shoved red solo cups in a large black garbage bag. “You were absolutely  _ wild _ last night! You did  _ two  _ keg stands, danced on the coffee table to ‘Sweet Dreams’ and snorted so much coke, I thought you’re nose was going to fall off!” Now that Bobby mentioned it, Richie’s nose was feeling a little raw. 

 

“Yeah, you even made out with Gretta fucking Keene!” laughed Tom, looking too delighted at his pain.

 

“I DID  _ WHAT _ ?!” Richie yelled, then immediately regretted it. 

 

“Ha, yeah! She looked as if she was about to pass out from shock and your old friends did too…” at that Bobby trailed off, awkward.

 

Richie saw the look he and Tom exchanged and groaned. “What?” he asked. “Fucking what?”

 

“Well, after  _ that _ display, Bev threw her drink in your face and stormed out with the others. They had to basically drag the small one away, he was so wasted.”

 

“Eddie,” Richie whispered. “His name is Eddie.” 

 

He remembered. He remembered everything that transpired between the two of them. The dancing, the almost...the makeout between Eddie and Adrian fucking Taylor, the fight, the words that he and Eddie exchanged. All of it. 

 

And it hurt, so fucking much. So much more than his hangover from hell.

 

“Huh?” asked Tom, having not heard him.

 

“Nothing,” Richie grimaced more than smiled and continued, “Well, will someone give me some fucking aspirin so I can help?”

 

“I got you!” yelled Sammy from the kitchen. A few moments later he appeared with a glass of water and four aspirin in his hand. He handed them to a grateful Richie then looked at the living room floor. 

 

“WHO FUCKING RALPHED ALL OVER THE FLOOR?!”

* * *

Eddie’s head was pounding out a beat in his head, like some kind of African drum. Someone had opened the curtains in the living room at Bill’s and he groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, pouting pitifully. “Close the fucking blinds!” he yelled at someone, anyone.

 

“You doing okay, Eddie?” This voice was full of concern. It was Beverly and Eddie peered out of the blanket to glare at her.

 

“I feel like absolute shit, thanks for asking. How much did I drink last night?”

 

Bev exchanged a worried look with someone to her right and Eddie peered further out to see it was Bill, looking at him with his arms crossed, a sad expression on his face. “What?” Eddie asked, looking at the group in full now. Ben was decidedly looking anywhere but his face, Stan looked angry but not at him, and Mike looked concerned like Bev. “Fucking what?”

 

“Y—you don’t remember?” Bill asked.

 

“Remember what?”

 

“You were shitfaced last night,” said Stan bluntly. “And you came to me and Bill, crying about Richie.”

 

Eddie froze. Now he remembered. He remembered everything in vivid detail: the dancing, Richie leaving to go help fucking  _ Michelle _ , Eddie getting jealous and drunk, Adrian Taylor flirting with him (like always), going to makeout with him, Richie finding him and the ensuing fight. God, Eddie had said some pretty mean things to him. True things, but mean nonetheless.

 

“Despite that,” Stan continued, “you wouldn’t let us leave. You were determined to have a good time, until…” he trailed of.

 

Eddie remembered. 

 

Richie fucking making out with fucking Gretta fucking Keene. He remembered bursting into tears at the display. How could he? Gretta fucking Keene?! The same one who treated him like absolute garbage all their middle school careers? And Bev too?

 

Bev grit her teeth. “I’m going to kill him,” she said angrily.

 

“You al-already threw you—your drink in his face,” Bill smiled slightly, trying to ease the mood, but that did little. 

 

“No,” said Bev resolutely. “He needs killing.”

 

“No,” Eddie groaned. “He was probably just—just pissed at me and wanted revenge.”

 

Bill looked at him. “Y-you never actually t-told us what hap-happened, just that you t-two got in a fight.”

 

“What happened, Eddie?” Bev asked quietly, resting a calming hand on his covered shoulder.

 

“Give me some fucking aspirin and I’ll tell you.”

 

Without a word, Bev reached over to the side table by the couch that Eddie was currently on and passed him four aspirin and a glass of water. Eddie gulped them down and sighed, feeling the Losers eye’s on him. “You guys aren’t going to let up unless I tell you, right?” He asked.

 

“No,” said the Losers in unison.

 

Eddie sighed again and looked down at his glass of water, wanting to drown himself in it. “Well, this may come as a surprise to everyone but Bev, but I have— _ had _ —this huge crush on Richie—” He was lying to himself. Despite everything that had transpired the night before, he was still head over heels for Richie, and he had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

 

“It’s not a surprise,” said Stan bluntly. “We  _ all  _ knew.”

 

“You did?!”

 

The Losers nodded and Eddie groaned, tilting his head back onto the couch. “Well, since you guys know that, you should know that it was my fucking  _ dream _ to be out on that dancefloor with him, and it was fucking  _ perfect _ . We even—we even danced to  _ our _ song.” Eddie sighed sadly, remembering how Richie held him and the dumb smile on his face, the jokes they made.

 

“So, what happened?” Ben prompted politely.

 

“Well, his friend Tom interrupted us,  _ right when _ —well, nevermind. Tom interrupted us and told Richie that that  _ bitch _ Michelle needed help, something about puking in the bushes or something? So, Richie left me and I got angry and—and jealous, so I got drunk. And made out with Adrian Taylor—”

 

“YOU MADE OUT WITH ADRIAN FUCKING TAYLOR?!” the Losers screamed.

 

Eddie winced. “Use your fucking inside voices, please. Yes, I made out with him and Richie found us and got like, super mad for some reason, and we had a fight. I said some things, some mean  _ but true _ things, and then he basically told me to go fuck myself...and then I found you guys, crying, I guess…”

 

It was silent for a moment.

 

Then: “I’m still gonna kill him,” Bev said, but she sounded more subdued now, more sad than angry.

 

“ _ I  _ can’t believe he made out with Gretta fucking Keene,” said Stan, and then quickly shut up at the look Bev shot him.

 

Eddie just wanted to curl up in a ball and die. He didn’t want to remember the way Richie had shoved his tongue down Gretta’s mouth and the way he seemed to be  _ actually  _ enjoying it, the asshole. He didn’t want to think about how badly he wanted it to be him in that situation, sucking face with Richie.

 

He didn’t want to think about it.

* * *

Richie didn’t think about it.

 

He didn’t think of the resolute way Eddie had called him  _ bullshit _ (which was true) or the way his eyes shed tears (which was so fucking heartbreaking). He just didn’t. He didn’t think at all. His mind and body were on autopilot.

 

He helped Sammy and the others clean up his house, electing himself to clean up his vomit because he felt kind of bad. It took most of the afternoon to clean the house. The place was an absolute mess. He found Michelle right where he left her, looking no worse for the wear, except incredibly hungover, like himself. She was extremely disappointed that she missed the best part of the night.

 

“You made out with Gretta fucking Keene?!” Michelle had screeched when Tom had told her, the traitor. “And you call  _ me  _ gross.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” was all Richie said. He was very, emphasis on  _ very _ , thankful that he couldn’t remember that part of the night. He hoped his mind palace buried the memory out back in the ditch where the dogs pissed. He fucking  _ hated  _ Gretta fucking Keene. Why in the absolute  _ hell _ would he kiss her?

 

He knew why, he just wasn’t thinking about it. 

 

_ Ever _ .

 

They finished picking up the place and ordered out for pizza, all of them agreeing on pineapple with cheese and extra sauce*. Richie ate four helpings, absolutely famished, and washed it down with a little vodka and Coke. His friends only shook their heads at his antics, long since used to his fucked up ways.  _ They _ were resolutely  _ not  _ drinking that day, as they were all, except Bobby, nursing hangovers almost as gnarly as Richie’s. Richie knew he shouldn’t drink, he just didn’t give a fuck, especially not after last night.

 

Richie left soon after that, making the trek back home, his hands in the pockets of his zipped up leather jacket. He could still feel the wallet he stole yesterday in the inside pocket. Thankfully, no one had nicked it off him when he blacked out the night before. He walked with his head down, sunglasses on, earbuds in, blasting Weezer in his ears, when he full on ran into someone.

 

Richie jerked, surprised, looking up, ready to either curse someone out or apologize. It was Bev, standing on the sidewalk outside Richie’s house, glaring him down. Richie ripped his earbuds out of his ears, not bothering to actually turn off the music, and said hesitantly, “Heyyyyy, Bev.”

 

“Don’t you ‘Hey, Bev’ me! Do you have any idea what I had to put up with last night?!” She yelled to him in the empty street. “Eddie was a mess!”

 

“Yeah? Well, so was I,” he didn’t want to have this conversation, so he pushed past her and up the front porch stairs of his house, unlocking the door. As usual, no one was home. Bev followed him inside.

 

“I fucking know! Kissing Gretta fucking Keene?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

 

Richie sighed. “A lot, Bev-Bev. Didn’t you get the memo?”

 

A pause, and then: “Eddie told us what happened.”

 

Richie threw up his hands. “Of fucking course he did, because you tell each other everything, right?!”

 

“Yeah, we do! And we don’t abandon our friends!” 

 

“I had to go make sure Michelle wasn’t dead or getting fucking  _ raped _ , Beverly! I was trying to be a good guy!”

 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

 

They stared at each other, neither willing to back down. 

 

After a beat of silence, Richie spoke up, “You guys don’t need me. You never have.”

 

“That’s not tru—“

 

“IT IS!” Richie screamed. “You guys are perfectly happy without me or are my eyes deceiving me when I see you all laughing and joking at lunch or in the quad?”

 

Bev said nothing, looking at her feet. Richie scoffed, her silence spoke fucking  _ volumes.  _ He looked away, angry and upset, wanting more than anything to get fucking high and forget about  _ everything _ .

 

“Just— _ leave,  _ Bev. Just leave.”

 

“Richi—“

 

“JUST LEAVE!” Richie screamed, spit flying from his mouth in anger as he slammed his hand on the kitchen counter with a resounding BANG! and his heart broke again at how she jumped back, fear flying in her eyes. But he didn’t apologize, didn’t say anything but watch her as she averted her eyes and practically ran out of his house, slamming the door shut behind her.

 

Richie breathed heavily through his nose, willing the tears away. He knew he’d just gone and fucked up the last friendship he had in the Losers Club and he knew it was all his fault.

 

_ You’re a piece of shit, Richie _ a voice slurred in his mind, clear as day.  _ You’re a piece of shit and you don’t deserve  _ _ anything _ .

 

Richie stomped his way up to his room, slamming his bedroom door shut and throwing his phone, still playing music, on his bed. He ran his hands through his curls, pulling at the messy strands, willing the voice to go away. But it didn’t, it just echoed in his mind, over and over, until all he heard was that voice. 

 

_ Her  _ voice.

* * *

Eddie felt like fucking shit.

 

He shouldn’t have said those things to Richie, no matter how true they may have been. Eddie could see Richie’s face in his mind’s eye, looking so broken even though his eyes were covered up with sunglasses. Eddie could see the way his lip trembled before he bit into it and told Eddie to go back to Adrian fucking Taylor.

 

Eddie didn’t even know why he kissed him. Actually, yes, yes he did. He did it to make himself feel better, to somehow get even with Richie for abandoning him at the party, even though now that Eddie was sober, he realized Richie didn’t abandon him. He was going to help a friend, no matter how much Eddie hated (was jealous of) that friend. 

 

God, Eddie was so fucking stupid! 

 

He got his wish, he got even with Richie, but at what price? Richie now hated him, he was certain, and Eddie was too proud to break first and go and apologize, no matter how much he wanted to. And Richie, Richie was probably out fucking some guy or girl, Eddie the farthest thing from his mind, and it was what he deserved.

 

He shouldn’t have said that to Richie. 

 

His little daydreams about one day meeting up with him again and both of them falling in love and living in happiness and peace were dashed to a million pieces with the words that Eddie had said. And he hated himself for it. 

 

And it had been going  _ so well _ !

 

During ‘Africa’, right before they were so  _ rudely  _ interrupted, Eddie had been so sure that Richie was going to apologize for leaving him—leaving  _ them _ . And that then, he was going to kiss him and that all the stars and planets would align within the galaxies and all would be right with the world. Richie wouldn’t be a drunk or a junkie, he’d just be Richie, and Eddie would just be Eds, and they’d live happily ever after.

 

What an utter fool Eddie was. 

 

An utter fool.

 

He laid upon his neatly made up bed after Bill had finally deemed him well enough to go home and cried silently to himself. Cried for himself, the way he was, the way he used to be. Cried for his friends, how they didn’t show it but how they all missed him, all of them, even Stan.

 

But most of all, he cried for Richie. 

 

For the boy he used to be, for the man he had become. How could he have fallen so far? How could Eddie say those things to him, only pushing him further down the rabbit hole? Eddie cried and he cried, until he felt that no more tears would come, and then he cried some more.

 

Eddie didn’t know it, but somehow he felt it. He had broken Richie’s heart that night, and now he had no way of knowing how to fix it.

* * *

Richie’s nose was bleeding. It was fucking bleeding as he brought himself back up from the counter where he had just leaned over and snorted the last of the amphetamines that Michelle had gifted him. He looked into the mirror of his bathroom, saw his bloodshot, wild eyes, the dark circles underneath, his hair that looked like he hadn’t bathed in days (it was sticky with product and the spoopy juice that Bev had threw in his face the night before. He didn’t care enough to wash it out), and the little red trickle of blood running down his nose.

 

“Shit,” he said. “ _ Shit, shit, shit _ .” His heart was racing as he scrambled for some toilet paper, the speed working fast, and he ripped off a few squares and shoved it up his nose, tilting his head back. He could see black spots in his vision as he tilted his head back too far, too fast and he cursed again. He felt for a moment that he was going to blackout, but he didn’t.

 

At least not yet…

 

He nursed his bloody nose, wincing a little at how raw it felt. At least he could feel that. Ever since Bev had left his house earlier that day, he hadn’t felt much of anything. He tried to sleep off what remained of his hangover, but it wouldn’t come. Despite not feeling anything, his mind was in overdrive, telling him over and over again how much of a screw-up he was, a piece of shit.

 

_ You’re bullshit _ .

 

Richie groaned as Eddie’s words filtered through his high mind again. Without thinking, Richie curled the hand that wasn’t currently trying to stifle the flow of the blood in nose into a fist and slammed it into the side of his messy head, hoping against hope that it would knock that particular thought right out of his head. But, of course, he was wrong. All it did was make him see visions of stars dancing in his eyes and his glasses sliding precariously down his nose. His head pounded in protest but Richie ignored it, punching himself in the face again.

 

And again, and again, and again, harder and harder still, until he slammed his fist so hard in the face that he went stumbling to the bathroom floor, his head slamming on the bathroom counter and his vision going dark.

 

Richie didn’t know how long he was out for, it didn’t feel like a long time, but blackouts can be deceiving. His heart was beating in his ears, a fast-paced beat, and Richie hoped that he didn’t just give himself a concussion. He felt his nose, the blood was dry so that was good. He gingerly sat up off his bathroom floor, his head very tender, and grabbed the ledge of his bathroom counter to haul himself to unsteady feet. There was no blood on the counter where his head met it so that was another good sign. His glasses weren’t broken and his eyes were not mismatched pupils, both of them just blown wide from the speed. So, no concussion.

 

He grasped the door frame that connected his bathroom to his room and stumbled through and onto his bed, wincing as his tender head made contact with his pillow. His phone on his bedside chimed, and he checked it, seeing he got a text from Tom, letting him know that him and the boys were going to the park for their regular bake and drink. He asked if Richie wanted to come and he seriously debated it, for like a second, until he finally yielded to the screaming in his head and he told Tom no, he was going to sleep.

 

**Tom:** at fuckng 4:46????

 

**Richie:** head fucking hurts. need sleep. talk 2morrow.

 

**Tom:** ok *thumbs up emoji* feel better dude

 

**Richie:** thx man

 

Richie shut off his phone and rifled through his bedside table. His bedside table was like his own personal pharmacy. It held all kinds of medications in there, most that he used to get high, but some he used for practical purposes, like now. He searched through it until he found what he was looking for: Seroquel 400mg. Despite the speed running through his system, this would put him to sleep in about thirty minutes flat, and a deep, groggy sleep at that. He shook out one and popped it into his mouth, dry-swallowing the pill before gently resting his head back on the bed, closing his eyes.

 

Sleep found him quickly enough and the last he thing that filtered through his mind before he went under was the look of utter truth on Eddie’s face as he told him:

 

_ You’re bullshit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor richie :(
> 
> And poor eddie:(
> 
> poor bev:(
> 
> can you fucking imagine Richie kissing Gretta fucking Keene? no wonder Bev was pissed...
> 
> just a warning: you know the saying "it's always darkest before the dawn"? it's only going to get worse before it gets better, i'm afraid, so just bear with me through this angst. i mean, Richie is an addict (to many things) and needs help, serious help, maybe even more help than Eddie can provide, like a professional (although i just can't see Richie going to a professional, at least in this point in time)...just some food for thought.
> 
> sorry this chapter is shorter than the last, but believe me, the next one should be long, considering the Halloween dance ;)
> 
> *shoutout to my best friend and all the pizza we eat lol;)
> 
> song - habits (stay high) by tove lo
> 
> (thinking about making a playlist of this story once it's over, would you guys like that?)


	6. i don't mind, letting you down easy, but just give it time if it don't hurt now well just wait, just wait a while

Richie didn’t hang out with his friends on Sunday, which rung so many alarms in their heads. Richie  _ always _ hung out with them, especially on the weekend, headache aside. He stayed in bed all day, popping Seroquel like candy to keep himself in dreamworld and away from the fucked up situation that was his life. He woke up groggy and confused Monday morning, with someone pounding so hard on the front door he thought they were going to bust it off its hinges. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, his hair a nest on his head (he still hadn’t showered; Eddie would think he was so gross), and in his rumpled pajamas, making his way to the door. “Don’t get your fucking panties in a wad.” He yanked open the door and yelled a “WHAT?!” to whoever was pounding on his door so fucking early on a Monday morning. He still had like an hour to get ready for school, if he was even going that is.

 

It was his friends, standing there, looking relieved to see him after only one day apart. He never realized how dependent they were on his friendship till now, and his heart squeezed a little at the show of love. But it quickly un-squeezed when the first thing out of Tom’s mouth was, “Dude, you look like shit.”

 

“I’m going to shut this fucking door in your face,  _ dude _ , if all you did was come here to insult me,” the threat was empty but there was still some venom behind his words.

 

Bobby smacked Tom upside the head and looked at Richie apologetically. “Sorry, man. We just wanted to make sure you were okay. When did you get that bruise on your face?”

 

Richie unconsciously touched his face where he had punched himself multiple times Saturday afternoon until he knocked himself out onto his floor. “Uh, I, uh, ran into my fucking door,” he said sheepishly, selling the lie. Richie had become a good liar over the years, nay, a  _ great _ liar.

 

Sammy bust out laughing. “Dude, that sucks!” He looked around inside, “You, uh, going to let us in?”

 

“Oh, yeah, right. Come in,” he waved them through and they followed him as he trudged back up the stairs into his room. They helped themselves to his bed and desk chair while he rummaged around the room, looking for something suitable to wear.

 

“Um, Richie Rich?” asked Tom hesitantly.

 

“Yeah, Tommy boy?”

 

“I think you need to take a shower. You fucking  _ reek _ .”

 

Sammy raised a hand, “I second that motion.”

 

Bobby gave a wry smile, “They’re not wrong, Richie.”

 

“Oh, fuck you guys,” but Richie did as they suggested and hopped into his shower, turning the water to scalding hot and letting it unknot the tense muscles in his back. He washed his hair thoroughly, it was pretty gnarly, and scrubbed himself raw until he smelled nice and clean with Old Spice soap. He stepped out with just a towel around his waist and the bathroom door was open, giving his friends a full view of his nakedness as he stepped out of the shower, but none of them cared. They’d seen all of that during the many showers after gym class in school (and Tom had seen all of it personally more than once). He gave his face a quick pass of the razor before stepping back into his room proper to see what his friends had done in his absence.

 

They had actually picked clothes out for him, those fucking dorks. Richie really needed to do his fucking laundry, for all that was clean was a pair of old ripped up jeans, a white t-shirt, a Halloween-themed t-shirt to go over that (because it was fucking COLD outside, so layers, layers, layers) and a Hawaiian-style button up over that with pumpkins printed all over it, and finally his leather jacket. He didn’t think about the implications of the Hawaiian-style shirt as he got dressed, lacing up his black Chucks, shoving his glasses on his face, and stealing a cigarette from Tom. He still hadn’t bought some more cigarettes, the sole reason he stole that wallet that was still inside his leather jacket.

 

“Hey, I gotta buy some smokes,” said Richie as they piled into Bobby’s truck, the heater being immediately kicked on.

 

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Tom deadpan. “You keep fucking stealing mine!”

 

“Because you’re so easy to steal from,” Richie blew him a cheeky kiss and Tom grumbled but blushed a little.

 

“Okay,” said Bobby easily. “Let’s stop by the gas station, I need to buy some snacks anyways.”

 

Sammy laughed, “You and your fucking snacks!”

 

“Oh, fuck you!”

 

The truck’s inhabitants burst into laughter and for a split second all felt alright in Richie’s world, until they passed by Eddie’s house and Richie subconsciously looked up into his window. The light was on and the blinds were open, and there he was. Little Eddie. He seemed to be arguing with someone, probably his Mom, but before Richie could get a closer look, Bobby’s truck had already ridden past and Eddie was gone. Richie’s chest felt tight again and he looked to Sammy. “You got your pipe on you, Sammo?”

 

“Always,” said Sammy, grinning. “Why, you wanna hit?”

 

“Yes, motherfucker.” Sammy reached into his backpack and pulled out his pipe that he kept wrapped up in newspaper and a smell-proof baggie. It was shaped like a traditional Sherlock pipe, and was already pre-packed, of course. Sammy smoked weed like a chimney. He handed it to Richie, who brought out his lighter and took a large puff, and then another, and then another, until Sammy was yanking it back.

 

“Yo, dude, that’s some chronic shit,” Sammy warned. “You’re going to be  _ flying _ .”

 

“Good,” Richie giggled, already feeling light in the head and in the chest. Much better. They arrived at the gas station quicker than Richie anticipated, or maybe the weed caused him to space out until they were suddenly there, but either way, they were there so they all jumped out of the truck and made their way inside. Richie had to watch where he was going, for his head kept spacing out, worse than when his ADHD acted up. He bought himself two packs of Marlboro Reds and a Diet Coke before stumbling back into the truck, waiting for the others. 

 

He watched the people as they filtered in and out of Derry in a haze, his mind filtering to one topic to the next, never staying on one for long. He spared a thought that if anyone recorded his stream of consciousness, they’d think he was definitely insane. Maybe he was…

 

Suddenly a similar truck parked next to Bobby’s and Richie moved so fast in that moment, he surprised even himself. He fell to the floor of the truck, for it was ole Big Bill’s truck that parked next to them, and he caught a glimpse of the Losers as they filtered out of the truck, all except one. Of fucking course. Richie’s luck was absolute shit.

 

He kept himself down in the floor, even when his friends got back into the truck, all of them looking uncomfortable. Before they could say anything, Richie yelled, “Fucking DRIVE!” Bobby did as he was bid, and peeled out of the parking lot, none of them saying a word as they drove to school. Richie felt himself slowly regain his sense of self control (ha!) and got back into his seat, pulling out a cigarette with shaky hands and lighting up, puffing like a madman. His high was going crazy, his head was in full blown panic mode, screaming at the top of its lungs.

 

His friends glanced at him uneasily but none of them mentioned anything (thank fuck). Richie wondered if the Losers had said anything to them about him and judging by the looks on their faces, they had, but his friends were staying mum. He probably looked crazed and they were most likely thinking about saving their own skins by keeping quiet. They pulled into the school parking lot, the quad already filling with students, and Richie practically fell out of the truck before it had fully even stopped.

 

“Woah, dude!” Bobby yelled from the driver’s seat. “Calm down! It’s alright, man.”

 

Richie said nothing, just flipped him off, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth. 

 

“MR. TOZIER!” 

 

Richie audibly groaned, and turned to the sound of the intrusion, masking his face into one of cheeriness. “Hey, teach! What’s crackalackin?” It was Ms. Turner, walking with a purpose towards him from her own car, looking murderous.

 

“Put that cigarette out right now, young man! This is school property, a non-smoking zone!” She screeched at him once she was in his face. 

 

Richie looked at her, his smile never fading from his face as he took out the cigarette from his mouth, and said, “Of course, Ms. Turner.” Then he took the cigarette and, without breaking eye contact with her, stubbed it out on his hand, in the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. He didn’t even flinch, but his smile faded, still staring at her shocked face. He vaguely heard Sammy mutter, “ _ Dude… _ ”

 

He let the cigarette fall to the ground and, without another word, pushed past her towards the front door of the school building, leaving his friends and Ms. Turner to watch him go in shock. Ms. Turner didn’t seem to know what to do with what just happened, for he did not hear her usual “Detention, Mr. Tozier!” as he walked away. 

 

“Fucking bitch,” Richie muttered to himself as he pushed open the school’s front door and walked to his locker. He felt nothing in his hand, absolutely nothing. He paused when he approached his locker, though, for standing there, blowing her obnoxious bubble gum, was none other than Gretta fucking Keene, twirling her blonde hair in her fingers.

 

She smiled when she saw him, and Richie felt himself tense up. He remembered that smile. The smile she always wore before she tormented poor Eddie…

 

_ Eddie… _

 

Angry and vindictive again, Richie forced a charming smile on his face and approached her. “Hey, Gretta Keene.”

 

She giggled and smiled at him. “Hiya, Richie. That was  _ some _ party Friday night, wasn’t it?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Richie said, opening his locker. “I got fucking  _ wasted _ .”

 

“Yeah, I remember,” she giggled again and Richie had to fight the urge to bash her head into his locker door. “I was, uh, wondering, if you’d like to, ya know, have a  _ repeat performance _ sometime.”

 

Richie looked up and saw past her. There they were again, the Losers Club, and they were all staring right at him. Eddie looked positively radiant in his pastels and that just made Richie angry, so he smiled at Gretta and said, “Why wait?”

 

Before she could react, he grabbed her face and leaned down, pulling her into a bruising kiss, right there in the hallway. She moaned annoyingly and Richie opened his eyes to look at the Losers, and saw that Eddie was practically running in the opposite direction. He locked eyes with Bev for a moment, who flipped him off, before running after Eddie but Stan was looking right at him, glaring. Richie’s heart sped up as he saw him begin to make his way towards him, but Bill grabbed his pristine collar and stopped him.

 

Richie felt dead.

 

He kept kissing Gretta, right there in the hallway, until the bell rang and they pulled apart. Gretta was breathing heavily and grinning. By that time, the Losers were gone. “Hey, do you wanna skip first and go bang in the janitor’s closet?” Gretta giggled, twirling her hair again and wrapping an arm around his waist.

 

Richie glared at her and pushed her off of him. “Not on your life,” he sneered.

 

“What?”

 

“ _ Fuck off _ , Gretta Keene,” he grabbed his Chemistry textbook and walked away, leaving a very confused Gretta fucking Keene in his wake. He made his way to Chemistry class and sat down in his desk. Ms. Turner refused to even look at him, which was alright with Richie. He felt Stan glare daggers at the back on his head, but he said nothing, until, right before the bell rang for second period, Stan leaned forward and whispered harshly in Richie’s ear--

 

_ “You’re a piece of shit.” _

 

_ You’re a piece of shit. You’re a piece of shit. you’re a pieceofshit. You’reapieceofshityou’reapieceofshityou’reapieceofshityou’reapieceofshityou’reapieceof-- _

 

“Richie!” Tom yelled, waving a hand in front of Richie’s face. It was lunchtime already and they were sitting at the lunch table. How did Richie get there? He really couldn’t remember? He couldn’t remember anything after--

 

_ “You’re a piece of shit.” _

 

“Huh?” Richie asked, looking at him, feeling as though a fog was lifting off him. “What’d you say?”

 

Tom and the others exchanged a worried look. “ _ You _ were just saying how we should all go over to Bobby’s after school tomorrow and get ready for the dance together.”

 

Richie was confused. “I was?”

 

“Uh, yeah...are you okay, man?” Tom looked worried.

 

Richie put on a bright smile. “Sorry, Tommy boy. I just got so caught up thinking about banging your Mom that I lost my train of thought.”

 

“More like derailed it,” Sammy muttered under his breath to Bobby who looked like he agreed.

 

Tom smiled uncertainly at Richie, for once not taking the bait. “So we should?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. We should meet at Bobby’s after school tomorrow.”

 

“Cool. Got your costume?”

 

\----

 

“Eddie? Eddie!” Someone was talking to him. Someone...important, but Eddie had other things on his mind. Like the fact that he almost threw up his breakfast this morning after seeing  _ him _ make out with Gretta fucking Keene in the middle of the hallway. Eddie knew--he just  _ knew _ \--that he only did it because he was feeling vindictive and Eddie also knew that Eddie totally deserved it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He remembered how Richie had looked at him,  _ really looked _ , before leaning down and capturing Gretta’s lips with his own. For one wild second, Eddie was insanely jealous of Gretta, but then reality came crashing in and he was sprinting for the bathroom, feeling his breakfast threatening to come up. It didn’t, thank God, but Eddie was late to class, having bawled his eyes out in the boy’s bathroom, with Bev standing right outside the whole time.

 

When he finally came out, his eyes puffy and red from crying, Bev said nothing but pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, running her hands through his curls. 

 

“EDDIE!”

 

“Yes! What the fuck?!” Eddie yelled back, broken out of his reverie. He had been staring at Richie’s back in the lunchroom, seeing that damn near Hawaiian print shirt peek out from underneath his leather jacket. Boy, that brought back memories. Good memories/painful memories.

 

“Billy wants your opinion on his costume,” said Bev patiently. Eddie had a feeling they all knew who he was staring at/thinking about, but none of them said anything. 

 

“Yes, Bill?”

 

“W--well, Stan and I were thinking ab--b--bout going as Sandy and D--Danny from Grease,” said Bill.

 

“Who’s gonna be Sandy and who’s gonna be Danny?” Eddie asked, suddenly grateful for the distraction.

 

“ _ I’m _ going to be Sandy,” said Stan in a tone that brokered no argument and really, it was a perfect fit. “And Bill’s going to be Danny.”

 

“That’s cool,” said Eddie. “Do it.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Totally,” Eddie tried to smile but it felt forced on his face.

 

Stan leaned forward and mock whispered, “Forget about that asshole, Eddie. He’s not worth it.”

 

“But he was,” said Eddie quietly. “Or do you guys not remember how happy he made us?”

 

The table went silent, all lost in their own memories of Richie “the Trashmouth” Tozier. Stan was the first to speak up, resolute in his opinion. “He needs help,” he said. “Like, a professional to sort out his mess.”

 

“Do you  _ really _ think Richie would go seek out help? Or listen to others who tell him he needs help? Or hell, do you think his parents would even notice or care enough to send him themselves?” Eddie bit back, a little too harshly. Stan shut up. 

 

“So what do we do, then?” asked Mike.

 

Eddie sniffed and looked back over to Richie’s table. His head was now resting on the table and his eyes were closed behind his glasses. Eddie spared a glance at his friends and saw the troubled looks on their faces and made up his mind. “ _ I’ll _ talk to him,” said Eddie. “I’ll make him see that he needs help.”

 

“How?” Bev finally spoke. She had been silent on the whole matter so far.

 

“First? By apologizing.”

 

\----

 

“You look like an idiot,” Richie laughed at Sammy, who was dressed in his Westley get-up from The Princess Bride. It was Tuesday, Halloween night, and they were all at Bobby’s getting ready for the dance.

 

Sammy flipped him off. “Fuck you, like you’re any better. Who ever heard of a skinny Batman?”

 

Richie flipped him off in return and they just stood there for a moment, their respective birds flipped in each other’s faces until they caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing. Richie felt better that day than he did the day before. Being around his friends helped a lot to ease the sadness in his heart, although it didn’t fully go away. Oh no, it settled in the back of his brain just waiting for a moment alone so it could pounce on Richie’s heart and bring him back down again. But for the time being, he was...not happy per se, but content. Yeah, content.

 

“Forget about you guy’s costumes,” said Tom, stepping out of the bathroom and striking a pose. “What about me?”

 

He had slicked back his black hair and sprayed painted it green. He had fake grills in with red lips and wore a full on tuxedo with a white flower in the lapel. Richie and Sammy exchanged a look and bust out laughing again. Tom frowned, “What?” When he got no answer, only more laughter, he yelled, “What, you fuckers, what?!”

 

Richie gasped for breath, tears streaming down his eyes. He fought the urge to wipe at them for he had blacked out around his eyes for his Batman cowl. Plus, his contacts were in and he didn’t want to irritate them. “You—you wrote  _ damaged  _ backwards.”

 

“What?!” Tom scrambled back into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. “You fuckers, no I didn’t! It looks fine!”

 

“The mirror reverses the image you project,” Richie explained. “So, if you wrote it the way it looks right in the mirror, it’s actually backwards in real life.”

 

Sammy stared at him. “What?” Richie shrugged. “I read.”

 

“You’re lying!” Tom accused, but he had a crease in his forehead from worry.

 

“No, I’m not,” laughed Richie. He reached down and grabbed the t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier and walked into the bathroom with him. He held the t-shirt up to the mirror and said, “See how AC/DC is spelled backwards in the mirror? That’s because it’s reversed.”

 

Tom groaned. “Oh, fuck! I have to write it backwards?! I can’t do that!”

 

Richie laughed and pushed Tom onto the toilet seat to sit. “Here,” he said. “Let me.” He carefully wiped away the backwards  _ damaged _ with a makeup wipe, then repainted the patch of skin white before writing the word on correctly across his forehead. He also redid the  _ J  _ under his left eye. When he was finished, he looked into Tom’s eyes and got awkward at the feelings he was projecting. Feelings Richie didn’t really reciprocate. Richie cleared his throat and stood up, declaring, “All done!”

 

“You’re a lifesaver, Rich,” said Tom dreamily before catching himself and shaking his head, grinning at him sheepishly. They walked back into Bobby’s bedroom, silent, until Bobby’s voice broke the silence.

 

“Hey, fuckers! You ready for your minds to be blown?!” Bobby had insisted on putting on his costume in another bathroom. He still hadn’t even told them what he was going as.

 

“Yes!” Richie and the others screamed back.

 

Suddenly, Bobby’s bedroom door flew open and a large, furry werewolf burst through, screaming, “ROAR!”

 

Richie was embarrassed to admit it, but he let out a high-pitched scream and almost fell backwards on the bed. The werewolf and the other guys paused before howling with laughter, the werewolf removing the mask to reveal Bobby’s smiling face. “Chillax, dude,” he said, still laughing. “It’s just me.”

 

“Fuck all of you guys,” Richie mumbled. “And you in particular, Bobby. You know I hate werewolves!”

 

“Awh, come on, Richie Rich!” Sammy was still laughing he was almost crying. “You know Bobby is more teddy bear than scary werewolf.”

 

“Fuck you very much, Sammy,” laughed Bobby.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Richie but he was smiling now and his friends seemed to be delighted in that fact. “Come on, you old geezers! Let’s go get crunk!”

 

“At a school dance?” asked Tommy as they made their way out of Bobby’s house and into his truck. “Not very likely.”

 

“Yeah, But Sammy brought the weed and  _ I _ —“ Richie reached into one of the pouches on the Batman utility belt and pulled out a flask, “—brought this!”

 

“What’s in it?” asked Bobby as he started the engine, always up for booze.

 

“Just pure, unadulterated  _ vodka _ .”

 

“ _ Niiiiccceee _ ,” said the boys in unison and then they cracked up again. Richie loved his friends. He loved them so much. They really did help him get through his dark times, now that he didn’t have  _ them _ anymore.

 

_ And whose fault is that?  _ asked a nasty voice in the back of his head that sounded vaguely like his Father, but Richie pushed it away.  _ Not tonight  _ he thought resolutely.  _ Tonight, I’m going to go to this stupid Halloween dance and have fun and forget all about the Losers Club and—and Eddie.  _

 

_ —you’re bullshit— _

 

Ah, there it was again. Those horrible, but oh so true it physically caused him pain, words that Eddie had spoken to him during last Friday’s party. And just like that, the love he was feeling in the truck with his friends vanished into thin air and was replaced with the broken sadness that filled his lungs every time he took a gulp of air. 

 

Why did Eddie’s words affect him so much? Why did he care what Eddie thought of him? Eddie accused Richie of abandoning them—of abandoning  _ him _ , but in Richie’s eyes, they were just as guilty. They didn’t try and stop him from pushing them away, they just let him go and never looked back.

 

_ Fuck them  _ he thought, looking out the window onto the cold, darkened streets of Derry, only lit up with jack-o-lanterns and Halloween decorations and dozens and dozens of little kids happily flitting from house to house, chasing the sugar high.  _ Fuck him _ .

 

They got to Derry High quickly, the parking lot already filled to the brim with students. Richie took a long gulp of his flask before passing it to the others. While they took their sips, Richie pulled his messy, curly hair into a bun at the nape of his neck and then jammed the Batman cowl overtop of his head. “How do I look?” He growled in his best Batman imitation.

 

“Like a skinny-ass Batman,” retorted Sammy, and they both gave each other the finger again until Bobby came between them, laughing.

 

“Alright, guys,” he said. “Let’s go get our school spirit on or something…” He jammed the werewolf mask over his head and then they were all piling out of the car and into the gymnasium.

 

As per usual with high school dances, especially ones at Halloween, they were assaulted with the opening lyrics to the classic “Monster Mash” and orange streamers decorating the ceiling and fake pumpkins hanging from thin wires. In one corner of the gym, there was a fake graveyard, complete with the real skeleton from Mr. Hamilton’s Science lab and fog makers. That’s where the couples and friend groups could go and take pictures if they wanted to. Richie and the boys grinned at each before making their way over to the graveyard, getting in line with the others. When it was their turn to take a picture, they all struck ridiculous poses, trying to look like some weird 90s boy band or something. The man taking the pictures was using an old Polaroid, so they were immediately handed their picture.

 

Richie laughed out loud when the picture came into view after shaking it vigorously. He was in the front, kneeling in that classic boy band pose and his chin was resting between his thumb and pointer finger, making him look faux-thoughtful as his blacked out eyes looked into the camera. Beside him was Sammy, pointing his rapier towards the camera and tilting his head. A little behind Richie was Tom, with his hands on his Joker cane and his feet spread apart, eyes wide as he looked at the camera. And behind all of them, in the middle, was Bobby in his full werewolf get-up, looking big and commanding with his furry arms crossed and feet spread like Tom. All in all, they looked like dorks. And they loved it.

 

“I’m keeping it!” announced Richie. “And I’m calling us The Hallo-weird Squad.”

 

The others groaned. “The Hallo- _ weird _ Squad?” Sammy asked. “Seriously?”

 

“You gotta a better suggestion?”

 

“Yeah, I do!”

 

“Well, let’s hear it!”

 

Before Sammy could finish that sentence, he looked off to the right and let out a “ _ Dammmmnn…” _

 

“What?” The other boys looked to see to who or what he was referring to.

 

“Check out that ass on that Robin over there, Richie Rich!” Sammy clapped him on the shoulder. “Go talk to him, maybe he’ll be up for some kinky sidekick action.”

 

Richie laughed as his friends pushed him in the direction of the cute little Robin with his back turned to Richie. Sammy was right, his ass looked  _ amazing  _ in those shorts and vaguely familiar, although for the life of him he couldn’t place it. Richie came up behind the Robin, who was situated at the punch bowl and leaned down to whisper in his ear with his best Burt Ward impression, “Holy check out the ass on that Robin, Batman!”

 

The Robin in front of him tensed up before turning around to face Richie. Richie felt himself go slack, for looking at him under his mask with a face full of fury, was none other than—

 

_ Eddie _ .

 

——

 

Eddie was super bored at the Halloween dance. All of his friends were off dancing or doing cute couple shit, even Mike who had found a girl dressed up as the girl from the ‘Thriller’ music video, matching his outfit perfectly, and now they were off dancing (to the ‘Thriller’ believe it or not). He had resigned himself to the punch bowl, even though under the watchful eye of Ms. Turner, it was as clean as water, no alcohol in it at all, but Eddie kept hoping that the next time he dipped the ladle into the orange punch— _ like the spoopy juice _ —that it would magically turn alcoholic and save him from boredom. And Eddie didn’t even like to drink! 

 

He had resigned himself to a boring night the moment Bill had picked him up in his truck, dressed in his Danny Zucko outfit and looking positively dashing. Stan looked great too, in a man’s version of Sandy, with a pink button down shirt and a yellow pastel sweater tied around his shoulders that he’d borrowed from Eddie. Eddie watched them kiss sweetly, lovingly, and he knew without a doubt that he’d be alone and bored out of his mind for the rest of the night. And he was right, until—

 

“Holy check out that ass on that Robin, Batman!” Some fucker with a horrible Burt Ward impression thought they could get away with a comment like that. Eddie tensed, gripping his fourth glass of punch tight in his hand, ready to fling it in the face of whoever just said that to him, but the action died as he looked up in the face—mask—of the perpetrator and saw that it was  _ him _ .

 

_ Richie. _

 

“R—Richie?” He stuttered out, then cursed himself for sounding so dumb and love struck at the same time. To Richie’s credit, he didn’t seem to notice. He seemed just as at a loss as Eddie.

 

“E-Eds?”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

Inexplicably, Richie grinned at him under the cowl. Wasn’t he supposed to be mad at Eddie? Enraged at the things he said? “Sorry about that, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie sheepishly rubbed one of the ears on his cowl. “I didn’t know it was you.”

 

“It’s okay. I should have guessed it was you from that horrible Burt Ward impression,” Eddie couldn’t help but grin back, but he was a little confused by Richie’s seemingly cool exterior. 

 

“Oh,  _ horrible  _ was it?”

 

“It was pretty bad,” Eddie said and they both laughed, a little awkwardly.

 

Richie looked around. “It was nice seeing ya, Eds. I gotta get back to my friends, soooo. Nice costume by the way, makes your ass look great.” He turned to leave, but Eddie stopped him with a hand to his arm.

 

“Wait,” He said, feeling as though a heart attack was about to come on, but he had to say this. He just  _ had  _ to. Richie looked at him, confused. “I just wanted to say:  _ I’m really fucking sorry _ .”

 

Now Richie looked really confused. “Sorry for what?”

 

“For what I said, Friday night…” Eddie looked at his feet, ashamed.

 

“Friday night…?”

 

Eddie looked up. Now  _ he  _ was the one who was confused. “You know, at the party?” At Richie’s questioning look, Eddie sighed, exasperated, and elaborated further, “ _ Sammy’s  _ party.”

 

At that, Richie’s eyes went comically wide and he said, “ _ Ohhhh...that  _ party!” He paused and then said something that made Eddie’s heart drop to the floor. “You were there?”

 

Silence.

 

And then, “Y—yeah, I was.”

 

“Oh, cool. Did you have a good time?”

 

“Did I have a good—you don’t remember?” Eddie could feel the tears beginning to creep into his eyes.

 

“Remember what?”

 

And oh, if that didn’t send Eddie into an emotional tailspin. “Remember—remember our—our  _ dance _ …”

 

“We danced?” 

 

_ Ouch _ . 

 

“Yes,” said Eddie, very quietly, the tears almost brimming to the top now.

 

“Oh. Huh. Sorry, Eds. I just don’t remember any of that, I was pretty wasted.”

 

“Yeah. So was I.”

 

“So, then whatever you said to me that night must not have been a big deal if I can’t remember it. Don’t worry about it, Spaghetti Man.”

 

“Yeah,” Eddie was so quiet now he could barely hear himself.

 

“Well, thanks for the apology or whatever. See ya around, Eds,” and with that, he was gone, practically busting the gymnasium doors open and disappearing into one of the darkened hallways. 

 

Eddie watched him go and felt his face crumple into tears as his own heart broke. 

 

——

 

_ You’re bullshit. _

 

_ You’re a piece of shit. _

 

_ You don’t deserve anything. _

 

_ You’re a goddamn LIAR! _

 

Richie punctuated each syllable of each word of each thought that screamed in his head with a punch to the locker. He had taken off his Batman gloves and was now punching the holy hell out of one of the locker doors. His hand was raw and bloody but he didn’t care. He just kept punching and punching and punching until he couldn’t feel anything.

 

He couldn’t believe he lied to Eddie. He looked straight into those big brown doe eyes and broke his heart with every word that came out of his mouth, because he needed to. He needed to push him away. He needed Eddie to hate him, like he hated himself. 

 

He lied about everything: not remembering seeing Eddie there, dancing with him, their goddamn fight, or the fact that his words didn’t bother him so  _ GODDAMN MUCH _ ! Because they were true, they were so true it hurt.

 

Richie was bullshit. He was complete and utter bullshit and he felt like death would be better than seeing those tears in Eddie’s eyes even one more time.

 

He was pulled out of his self-hate session when a familiar voice screeched, “ _ RICHARD TOZIER, HOW FUCKING  _ _ DARE _ _ YOU?!” _

 

Richie stopped his punching and looked at the screeching culprit. It was Beverly. Of fucking course it was Beverly. She stomped over to him, still looking threatening even in her Ariel getup. She shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble a few paces back and yelled, “HOW DARE YOU LIE TO EDDIE!”

 

“Who the fuck says I was lying?!” Richie yelled back, just eager to push her away, to push all of them away.

 

_ JUST GET OUT OF MY LIFE!  _ He wanted to scream.

 

“Because I know you, Trashmouth. You don’t forget shit like that.”

 

Richie looked away, jaw tight underneath the cowl. “You just broke Eddie’s heart!” Bev yelled.

 

“Oh, yeah?! WELL HE BROKE MINE!” Richie yelled, then gasped, feeling tears gather in his eyes at the admission. 

 

Bev stumbled back at his outburst, her eyes wide in shock. His chest heaved heavily, and the pain was beginning to ignite in his hand but he ignored it. 

 

Bev was quiet for a moment, but she asked hesitantly, “Is that why you lied? To get back at him?”

 

“No, Bev. I lied because I am a total and utter  _ piece of shit _ . Just ask Stan,” Richie scoffed.

 

“Richi—“

 

“Why are you all so suddenly keen on getting me back in your life?! You sure as hell didn’t fight it when I walked away four years ago!”

 

“That’s not true! I tried! I still stuck around!” Bev yelled.

 

“Yeah, just barely. The others though, they dropped me like a hot potato the moment I walked away.”

 

“And why did you walk away, huh?! What did we do to you?!”

 

At that, Richie was silent. There was no way, no way he was going to spill his deepest, darkest secret to her. He wasn’t going to tell anybody,  _ ever _ .

 

Instead, he seethed through his teeth, “Just  _ leave me alone...Bevvie _ .” He knew that was the lowest of blows, for true fear filtered across Bev’s face at the nickname, the same nickname her sexually abusive Father used to utter to her, and he took that as his cue to leave. He turned away and walked out the school’s doors, ignoring Bev’s sobs as they echoed down the hall.

 

He walked all the way home, freezing and in pain, but he knew he deserved this and more. So much more. He yanked off his cowl as he made his way down the street towards his house and then paused, for there, in the driveway of his home, were his parent’s cars.

 

_ So the fuckers finally show their faces again _ he thought as he walked up the front porch steps and unlocked the door with the keys in another one of the utility belt pouches. He walked in the house, nursing his surely broken, bruised, and bloodied hand. He tried to ignore his Mother on the couch and his Father sitting in the armchair, watching the TV, but his Mother spoke to him. She hadn’t spoken to him in  _ weeks _ .

 

“Jesus,” she slurred, drunk as a skunk. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

 

“I punched a locker,” he mumbled quietly.

 

“Speak up, boy,” said his Father, not looking away from the television set.

 

“I said,” he gritted out through his teeth, “I  _ punched  _ a locker.”

 

“What the fuck for?” His Mother slurred. He was vaguely surprised she was showing so much interest in him, drunk as she may be.

 

Richie said nothing, trying to go up the steps to his room but his Father’s voice stopped him. “Answer your Mother, Richard.”

 

“I punched a locker because I lied to someone I care about today,” said Richie. His anger and vindictiveness towards his parents was flaring up. “And you know why, don’t you Mother? Because I’m a  _ piece of shit who doesn’t deserve anything. Doesn’t deserve those friends that you have. _ ”

 

His Father finally looked at him, his eyes glinting dangerously behind his wire-thin glasses. “Apologize to your Mother, boy.  _ Right. Now. _ ”

 

Richie’s nostrils flared and he saw red. “ _ No _ ,” he said, resolute. 

 

“What was that, boy?”

 

“I SAID NO!” Richie screamed and his Father shot up from his armchair, getting into Richie’s face. Richie got his height from his Father, who had a good three inches on him. His Father grabbed him by the front of his costume and threw him backwards, where his head cracked painfully against wall. Before Richie could move, his Father cold-cocked him across his jaw with his fist, blood spraying from his mouth.

 

“ _ Apologize _ ,” his Father seethed.

 

Richie looked at him and smiled, showing bloody teeth. He spat out the excess blood onto the dirty floor and looked straight into his Father’s eyes. “ _ Fuck. You. _ ” His Father shoved him to the floor and began to assault his stomach with a litany of hard hitting kicks, leaving bruises that would surely be there for awhile.

 

And all the while, as Richie got the shit beat out of him by his own Father, a voice whispered in his head:  _ You deserve this. You’re a liar. You’re a junkie. You’re a drunk. You’re a piece of shit. You are just like your parents. _

 

_ You. Are. Bullshit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry :(
> 
>  
> 
> happy halloween you guys, hope you guys have fun! my best friend and i will be having a movie marathon all day so yay! and wowwie, you guys are the best readers ever! so nice, so thoughtful:) just wow. i can't thank you all enough:) the IT fandom is awesome, for realz:)
> 
> check out my tumblr for updates and other goodies: https://lookingaroundforlife.tumblr.com
> 
> song - ain't it fun by paramore
> 
> FANCAST:  
> richie tozier - ezra miller (obvs)  
> eddie kaspbrak - tom holland  
> beverly marsh - sophie turner  
> bill denbrough - froy gutierrez  
> stanely uris - troye sivan  
> ben hanscom - luke benward  
> mike hanlon - rj cyler  
> tom - ryan mccartan  
> sammy - miles heizer  
> bobby - justin prentice (yes, ik, god awful bryce from 13RW, but he's a completely different character in this)  
> michelle - kaya scoldelario  
> gretta fucking keene - dove cameron


	7. i see your monsters, i see your pain. tell me your problems, i'll chase them away. i'll be your lighthouse, i'll make it okay.

Richie didn’t come to school the next day, or the next, or the next, and he still wasn’t there come Monday. Eddie thought that was fine with him, he didn’t have to look at his stupid (beautiful) face, but by Monday, Eddie was getting a little worried. What if he went on a horrible bender and ended up in the hospital? What if he moved away? What if he dropped out? His anxious mind went through a thousand different scenarios, half of them ending with Richie being dead or worse. 

 

Eddie watched Richie’s friends like a hawk during lunch, trying to look for any inconsistencies in their demeanor, and honestly? They all looked pretty subdued and sad, like their resident Trashmouth was the only source of laughter in the group. Eddie had half a mind to go and demand from them just where in the hell Richie Tozier was, but he was too scared. They probably didn’t know this, but Richie’s friends were pretty intimidating, what with their drug use and alcohol abuse. Plus, that Bobby character was huge, although there were whispers that he was actually a giant teddy bear, but Eddie couldn’t take that chance. 

 

So instead, he watched and waited, looking like a heartbroken, lovesick fool to his friends. Only Bev knew the full extent of what transpired between Richie and Eddie on Halloween night, and only Eddie knew what Richie had said to her, how he called her  _ Bevvie _ . That was a low blow on Richie’s part and Eddie wanted to hate him for it, for he knew how it affected Bev, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t reconcile the fact that Richie apparently didn’t remember what happened between them at Sammy’s party. Eddie had cried himself to sleep that night, how Richie didn’t remember their dance, their almost  _ kiss _ . It killed him to know that it obviously hadn’t meant as much to Richie as it did to Eddie. That he didn’t think it was perfect, until Eddie had to go and screw it up. He hated himself for what he said to Richie, he really did, but Richie didn’t even remember, didn’t think it was a big deal, so why should Eddie? 

 

Eddie couldn’t help but be worried about Richie. It was so obvious to everyone but him that he was slowly, but surely, killing himself. Eddie didn’t know it, but Richie did know he was killing himself, he just didn’t care. Eddie fought with himself so many times the week Richie wasn’t at school to walk the two blocks to his house and pound on the door until Richie had no choice but let him in, so Eddie could talk to him and show him how much he was ruining his life. Show him how much Eddie cared, how much Eddie had  _ always _ cared, ever since they first met on the playground on the first day of Kindergarten.

 

Eddie always remembered that day fondly, for Richie had been his first friend during school, and they had met in the most Richie Tozier way possible. Eddie had been sitting on one of the swingsets, alone, after he gave the seat a thorough wipe down with his Clorox wipes that he kept in his fanny pack, and he was staring at the ground, clutching at his inhaler, feeling a asthma (panic) attack was coming on. He was fretful because the school was so new, the people so dirty and full of germs,  _ and _ he was easily the smallest kid in the class and the easiest to pick on, since he had so many health problems.

 

He was basking in his internal freakout, when he heard a breathless voice call out, “Hey, kid!”

 

Eddie had automatically looked up from the positively filthy ground and saw some poorly dressed kid with comically large glasses running at full speed towards him, clutching something small and shiny in his hand. The kid was dirty, with scraped up knees and dirt caked on his hands, but he had a huge grin on his face, which Eddie couldn’t even begin to fathom. “Can I borrow your fanny pack?”

 

“What?” Eddie had sputtered. There was no way he was letting this filthy urchin anywhere near his clean fanny pack.

 

“It’s an ‘mergency,” the kid had explained, like that was any better.

 

“What kind of emergency?” Eddie knew how to properly pronounce his words, thank you very much, unlike this kid.

 

“Life or death,” the kid wasted no preamble and yanked open Eddie’s fanny pack, dropping the shiny thing in his hand inside before zipping it back up. “You’ve got nothing in there, got it?”

 

Eddie was confused and mad that this kid had just touched his fanny pack like that without even waiting for Eddie’s permission and he was ready to tell him off, when more sets of running footsteps had come upon them, yelling at the kid who Eddie was talking to.

 

It had been Henry Bowers, the first grader and all around bully. Eddie had hated him already and it was only the first day of school. Bowers had shoved Eddie into the cubicles on his way to class  _ and  _ tripped him on his way to lunch, calling him a--a  _ faggot _ . Eddie hated that word, it sounded so mean.

 

He was saying now, “Hey,  _ faggot _ , give me my knife back!” He shoved the kid and he fell to the ground, but he was cheeky and brave, this kid.

 

“Knife? I ain’t got no knife. I got a pocket full of lint if you want,” He had reached a hand into his pocket but Bowers stopped him by stepping on his hand, causing the kid to cry out in pain. Eddie had bit his lip so hard, he almost drew blood. 

 

“You’re a fucking liar, Tozier. Give me back my knife!”

 

“I don’t got no knife!” Tozier had yelled back and Bowers had increased the pressure on his hand.

 

“S-stop it!” Eddie had yelled out, pulling on Bower’s dirty shirt to try and drag him away, but he was so much smaller than him that it didn’t do much. Bowers head whipped around on him and stepped off Tozier’s hand.

 

“Do  _ you _ got my knife, shrimp?” He had asked Eddie, getting in his face.

 

“No,” Eddie had said quietly.

 

“What was that?”

 

“NO!” Eddie had yelled, surprising the boys around him. He felt another asthma attack coming on and he had fought with himself to not grip his fanny pack, for he knew in the back of his mind that the shiny thing that Tozier had dropped in there had in fact been Bowers’ knife.

 

“Are you sure, you little faggot?” He had pushed Eddie back into swings, but Eddie stood his ground.

 

“Yes,” he ground out through his teeth.

 

Bowers had looked like he didn’t believe him, but at that moment a teacher who making the rounds through the playground to make sure no roughhousing like that happened passed by, so he backed off. “You’re lucky, Tozier,” he had told the dirty kid. “Next time, you won’t be.” And then he was running off with his friends and Eddie had felt like he could breathe again.

 

Tozier had cradled his hand against his chest as he stood up off the dirty ground and he looked at Eddie. “Gee, thanks, kid,” he said, smiling widely and a weird thumping went off in Eddie’s chest. “Richie Tozier’s the name and doing voices is my game. What’s your name?”

 

“Eddie.”

 

“Well, thanks a lot, Eds.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie had snapped and Richie had grinned.

 

And the rest, they say, was history.

 

Eddie leaned his head in the palm of his head, his mind swimming with the memory. How everything had been so much easier then, even with fucking Bowers breathing down their necks. Not long after that, they met Bill and Stan and their little friend group had grown. Grown into their very own Losers Club, as Richie had affectionately called it. And now, there was the Losers Club, but no Richie. 

 

Eddie, despite his broken heart, decided with himself he was going to bring him back. He was going to bring Richie back, come hell or high water, no matter what bullshit Richie threw his way, he was going to do it. He was going to be there for his friend, feelings be damned. He didn’t want Richie to kill himself, he didn’t want Richie to go.

 

He was going to do what he should have done all those years ago.

* * *

Richie wanted to die.

 

His stomach was a mosaic of black, purple and red, and it didn’t look like it would be fading anytime soon. It hurt to move, and his face was no better. His jaw felt like it was locked up and he could barely talk, which he felt like Eddie would say  _ good _ . It was purple all along his jaw and his left eye was black, and his nose was swollen. Thank god it wasn’t broken. His hand was though, and he had his friends come over and wrap it up in ace bandages. He threatened his friends within an inch of their lives that they wouldn’t mention what happened to him to  _ anyone _ , especially the old Losers Club. 

 

His friends were pissed. They wanted to beat the shit out of his Dad, and for good reason. He had gotten Richie good, real good. 

 

“You look like Van Gogh had a field day on your stomach, man,” Sammy had said when he and the others came over on Wednesday to find him crumpled and bleeding in his bed, his asshole parents gone. He applied Arnica cream to Richie’s stomach before wrapping some more ace bandage around his middle.

 

Tom had been pacing his room, pulling at his hair. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” he was muttering. “I’ll steal my Dad’s gun and shoot him through the skull, blowing his brains everywhere.”

 

Richie had chuckled and then grimaced, holding his stomach. “D-don’t want you to g-go to jail on my ac--account, Tommy boy.”

 

Tom had stopped his pacing and gave Richie a half-hearted smirk. “Who said I was going to get caught?”

 

Bobby put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I’d help you hide the body, and besides Richie Rich, your  _ Dad _ is the one who needs to go to jail.”

 

“Yeah, we--well you ain’t g--gonna tell anyone,  _ right _ ?” Richie had glared at each of them as menacingly as he could with one of his eyes sealed shut and blackened to a pulp. “C--cuz if y--you do, you guys d--don’t need to wo--worry about my D--Dad, you need to worry about  _ me _ .”

 

His friends had shut up at that and quickly agreed to not tell anyone. They had left him soon after that to let him wallow in his pain, which quickly subsided for the moment after he dry swallowed a couple (okay, maybe four) oxy’s and let himself float. He floated and his mind wandered, thinking back on all of the pain he’d been through. 

 

His life was utter shit. He deserved everything he got; he was a junkie and a drunk. He’d pushed his friends away because he felt he had to--no he  _ did _ have to. They didn’t deserve to be exposed to him and his  _ filth _ . His life wasn’t just utter shit,  _ he  _ was utter shit. He was bullshit, just like Eddie said.

 

He wanted to die.

 

He wallowed in his sorrow the whole week, staying home and popping the oxys like his life depended on it (and maybe it did). His parents didn’t even acknowledge his existence again, which was fine by him. He would stagger downstairs, clutching his stomach and grab food out of the fridge, his Mother passed out drunk on the couch and his Dad gone to the office. He hated them, he hated them so much. He wished they were dead. 

 

He wished  _ he _ was dead.

 

He didn’t go to school that next Monday either, his stomach was still a mess and it was hard to walk more than a few steps before doubling over in pain. His face was a little better. He could open his eye and that was something and he could move his jaw a bit better too, but it was still pretty locked up. He stayed in bed, nursing his wounds, wishing he was dead that late Monday afternoon, when he heard a pounding on his front door.

 

“Go away, guys!” he yelled, his jaw protesting. He thought it was his friends, coming over to bother him when he told them not to. After that first day, he refused to see them, not wanting them to see him in his fucked up mental state. Seeing them would just make him more depressed because all he could think about were the times they were together, like Sammy’s party or the Halloween dance, and everything that went to shit. 

 

“It’s not your friends,” yelled an oh so familiar voice from behind the door and Richie froze before staggering to his window to peer down onto the front porch below.

 

It was Eddie.

 

He looked like he just came home from school, for his backpack was still on his shoulders. He glanced around the front porch and then Richie watched as he pounded on the door again. “Let me in, Richie,  _ please _ . I--I want to help you.”

 

Did his friends seriously tell Eddie what happened to him? Richie was furious, his face contorting painfully in anger, and he stumbled down the stairs, before ripping open the door. “I  _ don’t _ need your help!” He yelled in Eddie’s face.

 

Eddie staggered back, shocked at the sudden outburst, and then he blurted out, “What the hell happened to you?”

 

_ Oh _ .

 

Well, that was awkward.

 

Eddie’s face turned angry inexplicably. “Was it fucking Bowers?”

 

“Uh... _ yes _ . Yes, it was,” Richie said, clutching his stomach. Fucking Bowers was always good cover for the injuries he acquired from his Dad over the years.

 

Eddie pushed past him and into the house. Richie watched him go, confused. Eddie turned around when he felt that Richie wasn’t following him and said, “Come on. Let me look at your injuries.”

 

Richie was taken aback. Shouldn’t Eddie, you know, be pissed at him for saying that he didn’t remember their dance? To be honest, Richie was a little insulted that Eddie believed his lie. Richie wouldn’t forget anything that pertained to Eddie,  _ ever _ . Almost all of his happy memories had something to do with Eddie and Eddie alone.

 

He remembered one of the best days of his life when he and Eddie were thirteen, shortly before Richie turned his life around for the worst. It was a hot summer day in Derry, Maine, and it was just him and Eddie down at the Quarry. Bill was home sick with the flu, Stan was busy studying for his bar mitzvah, Ben wanted to spend the day studying architecture in the library (the dork), Mike was busy on his farm, and Bev couldn’t leave the house that day because her Dad was home and he didn’t like her associating with boys, especially boys like Richie, although Richie was a little surprised that Mr. Marsh didn’t even like Eddie. Eddie was a good kid,  _ mostly _ , and very charming with adults but Mr. Marsh hated him too. 

 

So it was just him and Eddie.

 

Eddie was freaking out, as per usual, about all the germs that were  _ sure _ to be swimming in the Quarry and Richie was having the time of his life teasing him about it. “Yeah, Eds, there are like  _ tons _ of fish in this Quarry that carry sexually transmitted diseases,” he was laughing.

 

“WHAT?!” Eddie freaked. “My Mom will kill me if I get an STD--”

 

“I think your Mom has an STD--”

 

“Beep beep, Richie! This is serious! I can’t get an STD!”

 

“I’ll give you an STD-- _ wait _ …”

 

That stopped Eddie freaking out for a moment and he burst out laughing, forgetting the implications of Richie’s statement that made Richie’s stomach do knots and twists. “You just dug your own grave, Trashmouth!” He laughed, doubled over.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Richie. “Laugh it up,  _ Spaghetti Man _ .”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie wiped at his eyes and smirked at him. Richie’s slip up had caused Eddie to calm down considerably and he glanced over the edge of the drop of the Quarry before looking back at Richie. “I don’t want to jump alone,” he said.

 

Richie had grinned. “When have I  _ ever  _ let you jump alone, Eds? You know I’m always here for you, so you don’t have to do the scary parts by yourself.”

 

Eddie was silent for a moment before he said, “You promise you won’t let me drown?”

 

“I promise,” said Richie solemnly.

 

“Or let me get an STD?”

 

“Or let you get an STD,” he laughed a little. “Come on, Eds. Let’s do it!”

 

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie snapped back but then he did something that Richie didn’t expect. He grabbed Richie’s hand in his own and Richie could almost swear that Eddie was blushing. Richie knew  _ he _ was. “Okay,” said Eddie. “Let’s do it.”

 

They brought themselves to the edge of the drop before smiling at each other and counting “1, 2, 3, JUMP!” Then, still holding hands, they had propelled themselves forward, down towards the water. It was the greatest moment of little Richie’s—and big Richie’s—life: plunging down to the water below, holding each other’s hands like their lives depended on it, and screaming bloody murder at the top of their lungs. In that single moment, Richie felt  _ free _ . 

 

Free, with Eddie.

 

“Richie?” Richie was broken out of his reverie by Eddie saying something to him, concern written all over his face as plain as day.

 

Richie cleared his throat. “Yeah, Eds?”

 

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie said, arms crossed. He looked so adorable when he was concerned. Concerned for  _ Richie _ . “Have you been using cream on the bruises on your face?”

 

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah,” said Richie. “It’s upstairs, in my room.”

 

Eddie nodded and turned and walked up the steps to Richie’s room without another word, Richie practically running on his heels. “I—I can get it!” Richie was saying. He  _ really  _ didn’t want Eddie to see the extent of his room, how messy and dirty it was, but it was too late, Eddie had already thrown the door open.

 

Richie watched as Eddie paused and took in the state of his room. The bed was a crumpled mess and there was still dried blood on his pillow where he had collapsed last Tuesday after getting the holy hell beaten out of him by his Dad. Pills were scattered on his bedside table, along with a near empty bottle of whiskey that Richie had been using to numb the pain further. Dirty clothes were strewn all over the floor, including his blood-soaked Batman costume, that Richie swiftly kicked under his bed and away from prying eyes. 

 

He heard Eddie softly tut, but he made no comment. Instead, he perused the pills on Richie’s bedside table and shook out two oxys from the nearly empty bottle. He handed them over to Richie, stating, “Take these with a glass of water.  _ No alcohol _ , Richie!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie grumbled but did as he was bid, grabbing the empty glass that sat on the table and shuffling over to his bathroom and ran the tap. He took the pills and then made his way back to Eddie, who had discarded his pastel green backpack and had laid it neatly beside him where he sat primly on Richie’s bed. He was pulling something out of it, a clunky white box. Upon further inspection, Richie realized it was a first aid kit. “You seriously bring a first aid kit with you to school?”

 

“Shut up, dickhead,” said Eddie, although Richie couldn’t detect any hint of venom in his tone. “Bowers still has it out for me and my friends, and after the other week, I figured I could benefit from carrying one with me.”

 

Richie looked at Eddie’s face, which had healed quite nicely from the beating Bowers had given him two weeks ago, until Richie had jumped in to save him. Wow, it felt like a lifetime ago since that had happened, but it had only been a couple of weeks.

 

Eddie grabbed the bruise cream that was sitting on the bedside table and motioned for Richie to sit beside him on the bed. “You don’t have to do this,” Richie said, but he sat down anyway.

 

“Are you kidding me? After what you did for me with Bowers, it’s the least I can do,” said Eddie, squeezing out some cream before gingerly applying it to the bruises on Richie’s face. Richie prayed to whoever was listening that his face wouldn’t heat up by how close Eddie was, their noses barely inches apart as he applied the cream carefully and clinically. “Besides,” Eddie continued, averting his eyes, awkward. “I  _ care  _ about you, Richie.”

 

Richie hummed noncommittally, not saying a word.  _ That’s not what you said at Sammy’s party  _ a dark part of his brain hissed but Richie locked it away, focusing on the calming effect of Eddie’s nimble and graceful fingers on him.

 

Eddie gently poked and prodded his face, asking where it hurt and applying more cream to the areas that needed it. He seemed to blush for a moment before saying, “Okay, lift up your shirt.”

 

“Wh—What?”

 

Eddie’s face was determined. “Lift up your shirt. I know fucking Bowers got you there too, you were practically doubled over when you answered the door.”

 

Richie stared at him for a moment, but he slowly lifted up his ratty Nirvana t-shirt and exposed his mosaic of bruises. Eddie sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and said lowly, “ _ Shit _ .” He squeezed out some more bruise cream on his fingers and reached out to hesitantly touch his stomach. Richie jerked when the cold cream touched his bruises and because of something else, but Richie couldn’t-- _ wouldn’t _ \--think about why that was. “Sorry,” Eddie said, but he didn’t stop touching him. “Wow, you really let Bowers and his cronies get you good. What’d you do this time, Richie?”

 

Richie raised an eyebrow.”What makes you think  _ I  _ did anything?”

 

Eddie gave him an unimpressed look. “You  _ always _ do something to piss Bowers off, Richie. It’s one of your gifts.”

 

Richie quirked a smile.”That it is. But honestly, I didn’t do anything, except being a  _ faggot _ .”

 

Eddie gave a sad smile. “Yeah, me too,” he said quietly.

 

Richie stared at him and watched him as he worked, rubbing in the bruise cream real nice on his abs and stomach. It felt so relaxing to feel Eddie’s hands on him, softly rubbing in the cream before wrapping an ace bandage that Eddie kept in his first aid kit around his middle. “Reminds you of the old days, huh?” Richie asked as Eddie wrapped him up, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “You were always getting roughed up. I swear Bowers had it out for  _ you _ especially.”  

 

“Yeah,” said Richie, looking away. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that more than half the times that “Bowers” had beat the shit out of him, it was actually his Dad, for one offense or another.

 

“Well,” said Eddie, leaning away and taking his hands off of Richie’s front, which Richie missed immediately, “all done.”

 

Richie put his shirt down, wincing only slightly, and he said, “Thanks, Eds.”

 

“Don’t call me Eds.”

 

“Whatever you say,  _ Eds _ ,” Richie smirked and he grinned when Eddie lightly pushed him on the arm. It felt good to joke with him, to pretend like everything was fine between them, like they hadn’t broken each other’s hearts.

 

Silence ensued for a moment and Richie thought that Eddie might leave, but he didn’t. He just sat there, looking troubled and like he wanted to say something very important. Finally, Eddie spoke, “I know you said you don’t remember, Richie, but I want you to know: I am  _ deeply _ sorry for what I said at Sammy’s party.”

 

“But did you mean it?” Richie couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth and Eddie looked up at him, surprised.

 

“You--you remember?” 

 

Richie shrugged. “I remember what you said,” he lied.

 

Eddie looked at his feet. “ _ Oh _ ,” he said quietly. 

 

“Did you mean it?” Richie repeated. He wanted to know the answer, even if it killed him.

 

“I--I was drunk, Richie. I--I didn’t know what I was saying,” Eddie refused to look at his face.

 

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” Richie quoted, feeling and sounding dead inside. “You think I’m bullshit.”

 

Eddie looked up, his face indeterminable to Richie. “I don’t think you’re bullshit. I think you’ve been  _ acting _ like bullshit. I mean, kissing Gretta fucking Keene? Calling Bev ‘Bevvie’?”

 

Richie winced. “Yeah, that was uncool.”

 

“Yeah, it was,” Eddie agreed. “But I don’t think you’re bullshit, Richie. Not at all.”

 

Richie looked at him,  _ really  _ looked at him, and saw that he was telling the truth. He didn’t know what to do with that information. His chest felt tight, and he didn’t think it was because of the bruises littering his chest. For the first time in over a week, he felt the tingling feeling of being alive again, if only for a moment. A moment he shared with Eddie. He wanted to say something,  _ anything _ . “I know your Mom doesn’t think I’m bullshit. You should have seen her and me last night as we were bumping uglies--”

 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie said but Richie watched as he smiled, and he knew everything was okay.

 

Maybe everything could be okay between them.

 

Just maybe...

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, maybe some happiness just in time for Halloween? i have no idea if it'll last though, so just be warned ;) also, some nice flashback scenes between Richie and Eddie, i think you guys can expect more of that:)
> 
> song - monsters by katie sky


	8. such a harsh tongue, used so easily, never hear it much in front of me. keep quiet, keep quiet, keep quiet

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie said but Richie watched as he smiled and he knew everything was going to be okay.

 

“You want me to shut up,” said Richie, grinning.

 

“It’d be preferable,” Eddie smirked. 

 

“I know a way you can shut me up,” Richie said, his grin spreading to a full on smile. He didn’t know why he was saying this, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt real right, so right.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie grinned. “I know too. I can just leave and stop hearing your horrible voice.”

 

“Horrible? You wound me so, Edward Spagedward,” Richie touched his chest where his heart would be.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, but the grin was still on his face. 

 

“You love it.”

 

Eddie’s grin turned soft and he looked at Richie, his doe eyes shining. “I do, actually,” he said quietly.

 

Richie looked at him, and suddenly he was overcome with this feeling. This, inexplicable feeling. This feeling that seemingly came out of nowhere but at the same time, Richie felt had been there for a very long time, simmering just under the surface. 

 

This feeling to--to kiss him. 

 

He wanted to kiss him. He wanted it so bad. He had to do it,  _ now _ , or he would--he would  _ die _ . He leaned forward on the bed and he tentatively placed a hand on Eddie’s knee covered by acid wash jeans, which made him so cute with his pastel yellow sweater. Eddie paused, “R--Richie?”

 

“Shhh, Eds,” he whispered smokily. “Just--let me--”

 

And then he leaned down and pressed his chapped lips to Eddie’s. Time seemed to stop in that moment, and all he was aware of was the feel of Eddie’s soft (so soft) lips against his. He heard Eddie whimper a little at the contact before parting his lips beneath Richie’s and Richie placed a hand on Eddie’s face, bringing him closer and deepening the kiss. Eddie wrapped both of his arms around Richie’s neck and brought their chests flush together, Richie leaning backwards until they were falling back onto the bed. Richie and Eddie parted their lips to laugh a little and Richie felt so happy, so content, so--so--

 

He never wanted it to end.

 

“Eddie,” he whispered softly, grasping Eddie’s face firmly in his hands.

 

“Yes, Richie?” Eddie whispered back, his eyes lidded and looking at Richie with just so much--so much--

 

“I lo--”

 

_ BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! _

 

Richie groaned at the sound of his alarm going off, signalling the start of another day. He couldn’t believe he’d just had a dream about--about him and  _ Eddie _ \-- _ kissing _ ! That he almost said--

 

_ NO! _

 

He couldn’t think about that-- _ wouldn’t _ think about that. It was best to put all thoughts of kissing Eddie ( _ fucking Eddie _ ) out of his mind. He didn’t think of Eddie in that way at all, no, no! And he was certain Eddie didn’t think of him in that way either, if the way he was sucking face with Adrian fucking Taylor at Sammy’s party was any indication. Richie was barely a blip on Eddie’s radar and he hated the way his heart clenched at the thought. 

 

He slammed his good hand on the alarm cut, effectively shutting it off. He gingerly sat up in his messy bed, scattered with food and booze. After Eddie had gone yesterday, after forcing a promise out of Richie that he would come to school on Tuesday, Richie had filled his stomach with booze and junk food until he felt uncomfortably full, the strain on his ribs aching. He had passed out around seven, after popping two more oxys and chasing it down with some good old fashioned vodka, burning his throat. 

 

He reluctantly swung his legs over his bed and took his phone, texting Bobby with his good hand, which was a little tricky because Richie was a righty and his right hand was the one that was broken. He asked if Bobby could pick him up for school and it was almost embarrassing how quickly Bobby text back with an enthusiastic ‘YES!’ He then stood up from the bed and made his way into his bathroom. He really needed a shower, he hadn’t had one in over a week and he was  _ reeking _ . He turned the water to scalding before carefully removing his pajamas and his ace bandages around his middle, before stepping inside and washing away his dirt and grime. 

 

The hot water felt magnificent on his bruised skin and he wanted to stay in there forever, but alas, he had a schedule to uphold. He washed his hair, using only one hand, and his body with his Old Spice soap, roaming his hand carefully over his ribs. As he stood in the shower, he thought about what Eddie said to him the day before, what he  _ really  _ said, not what he imagined in his oxy dream. How Eddie didn’t think he was bullshit, just that he was  _ acting _ like bullshit, and Richie had to admit, that  _ was _ true. He really needed to apologize to Bev, didn’t he?

 

When Eddie had left his house yesterday, Richie had felt so light and warm he thought he was going to float away. He didn’t even know why he drank so much booze that night, when Eddie already made him feel like he was drunk, but Richie suspected old habits. 

 

_ Just like your Mother _ his Father’s voice whispered harshly in his ear and in response, Richie turned the water from scalding hot to icy cold, freezing out the negative thoughts. He wasn’t going to have those thoughts, not today. Not when he knew that Eddie didn’t think he was bullshit. Even under the icy water, Richie felt like he was floating once more. Floating on cloud nine. 

 

_ Fuck! _

 

He got out of the shower soon enough and got ready for school, slowly but surely with his fucked up hand and ribs. Eddie, the sweetheart that he was, had started a wash for Richie’s clothes before he left after he wrinkled his adorable little button nose splattered with freckles and practically hauled his ass to the barely functioning washer machine and began throwing his clothes in there, along with a good helping of detergent.

 

“Fuck!” Richie had laughed, despite the ache in his ribs. “What happened to separating whites from colors?”

 

“Oh, fuck that!” Eddie had said, and then he turned to him with a smirk, “And since when have you owned anything  _ white _ ?”

 

Richie had laughed, ignoring his ribs, and all felt right with the world.

 

Richie got dressed in a black long-sleeved t-shirt with and a Hawaiian print shirt over it with his leather jacket. He felt new, refreshed, and that totally wasn’t because he popped a high powered oxy and washed it down with vodka, no way. He greeted Bobby with a wide smile on his face and jumped into his car, trying not jangle his ribs or his hand, which he had fashioned in a handmade sling, using an old pillowcase. 

 

“You should really go get that checked out, man,” said Bobby as he looked over at Richie’s hand hanging limply in his makeshift sling.

 

“No,” Richie half-slurred, feeling the oxy kick in with the alcohol. “No hospitals.”

 

“What about a doctor’s office?”

 

“Still bad. They’d make me go to the hospital and sign all these fucking forms. I  _ hate _ forms,” Richie giggled.

 

“You hate forms, huh?” Bobby chuckled. “All kinds of paperwork, right?”

 

“Paperwork, eugh,” Richie made a face.

 

“I bet, you’ve never had to do fill out forms in your life,” Bobby laughed, reaching over to tickle him in the neck.

 

Richie jerked at the hand on his neck, full on laughing at the tickle. “Stop that! And yes, I have! Don’t you remember all those forms they make you fill out at the start of high school? About your likes and dislikes and shit for trying to decide what kinds of extracurriculars to take? I  _ hated _ that fucking form. They got  _ all _ of my extras wrong.  _ All of them _ .”

 

“Oh, yeah? What’d you get?”

 

“Huh?” Richie was flying, surely flying now as he stared out the truck window. 

 

“What’d you get?”

 

“Oh,  _ chess  _ and  _ AV  _ club, like I’m some kind of--some kind of  _ dork _ !”

 

“But, you  _ are _ a dork.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Richie sighed and then he looked around the truck. “Where’s Sammy and Tom?” He slurred.

 

“Oh, yeah! We didn’t tell you because you were--ya know--” they both looked awkward at that and Bobby continued, “Tom’s parents finally got him a car, so they are riding in his today.”

 

“AWESOME! What kinda--what kinda car’d heget?” Richie was really slurring his words now. Maybe taking the oxy with that vodka was a bad idea. Or maybe it wasn’t, Richie couldn’t decide at the moment.

 

“Dude, what the hell did you take?”

 

“Mmmm, just some oxy,” Richie sighed, blinking his eyes behind his glasses blearily, his bones in his body weighing down on him heavily.

 

“ _ Just some oxy _ ?” Bobby echoed with a strange look on his face.

 

“ _ Annnndddd _ some vodka...on an empty stomach,” Richie slurred as they got closer to the school.

 

“Dude, come on, man,” Bobby scoffed. “You can’t go to school like this, you’ll be a bumbling fool.”

 

Richie laughed. “Bumbling, bumbling,  _ bumbling _ fool. Ye _ ahhhhh _ , tha’s ME! And I can  _ too _ go to school, Bobbington, because I have--I have to see  _ him _ .”

 

“See who?”

 

“My best friend, my reason for being alive right now--”

 

“What do you mean ‘your reason for being alive right no--’”

 

“EDDIE!  _ Edward Kaspbrak _ !” Richie screamed into the car, feeling his heart thump wildly into his chest. 

 

“You’re fucked up, right now, man. Like seriously,” Richie laughed because Bobby looked like a big teddy bear when he was concerned.

 

“I’mnotfuckedup,  _ you’re _ fucked up!” Bobby pulled into the school’s parking lot, looking like for all the world he wanted to turn the car around and take Richie home. Before he got the chance to, Richie stumbled out of the car, clutching to the door for support, his head swimming. Okay, maybe he was a  _ little  _ fucked up, but really, he could handle it.

 

He could handle it he thought to himself as he stood up on wobbly legs, then promptly slumped down, the world spinning for a moment. Bobby raced over to Richie’s side and grabbed him before he fell fully to ground, cursing. Richie could vaguely hear people whispering all around them but he didn’t care. His mind was wandering, wandering through the woods of his thoughts, tumbling around the deep, dark forest like a drunkard (ha! He  _ was _ a drunkard!). 

 

“Richie! Richie?! Can you hear me?!” Bobby was saying, slapping his face.

 

“‘M _ fineeeee _ ,” Richie mumbled. He felt great, like he was wading through sugary sweet molasses.

 

“Oh my God, is he okay?!” He heard another voice. It sounded like--

 

“ _ Bev _ ,” Richie slurred, looking up from his slump to look into Bev’s startling blue eyes, staring at him with--there it was again-- _ concern _ . Richie  _ hated _ when people looked at him like that. “Bev-Bev! I’mso--I’mso _ sorry _ for what--for what  _ I _ said Hallo _ weennnn _ ...I didn’t--I didn’t mean it  _ at allllll _ .”

 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” 

 

“Stanley! StantheMan!  _ St-staniel… _ ” Richie looked past Bev and saw all of them there, except Eddie: the Losers Club. “You all  _ know _ how much of an--an  _ asshollleee _ I am…” He giggled and then made a face, slumping further down into Bobby’s arm. “I don’t--I don’t feel so good…”

 

“Hey, guys. Sorry I couldn’t get a ride today, my Mom was being  _ impossible _ to deal with and-- _ RICHIE _ ?!” There he was, the light of Richie’s life, his reason for living, his Eddie. His Eddie Spaghetti. By the look on Eddie’s face, he had a feeling that he may have said that out loud.

 

“Richie, ohmygod, Richie! Are you okay?! What happened?!” Eddie looked one second away from puffing up a storm on his no longer needed inhaler. 

 

Richie said nothing, just stared at Eddie with what felt like actual heart’s in his eyes, so Bobby answered for him. “He took an oxycontin with vodka...on an empty stomach.”

 

“Shit,” cute little Eddie cursed. He ran a hand over Richie’s face and Richie felt his mouth split into a lovelorn smile. “We have to help him, guys!”

 

“And do what?” Stan was asking.

 

“W--we could ta--take him to m--my house,” said Billiam, ever the hero. “M--my par--parents won’t be home.”

 

“And skip class?”

 

“This is more important!” Eddie snapped and honestly? Richie was in love.

 

Yes, Richie was in love! He was in love with Eddie! Why was that so hard to admit to himself earlier? He couldn’t remember but now, it came as easily as breathing, bruises on his ribs notwithstanding. Richie had to tell him, he had to tell him now, he had to--

 

\----

 

Eddie was freaking out. He was on the verge of tears, he could feel them threatening to spill over as he watched Richie breathe unevenly on Bill’s living room couch. Richie had passed out in his friend, Bobby’s, arms after Eddie had snapped at Stan for being inconsiderate. Eddie had flipped out as Richie’s head had slumped forward, unconscious on Eddie’s shoulder.

 

“Richie? Richie!” Eddie had screamed, his heart going into overdrive.

 

“Oh shit!” Bobby had cursed, pulling the unconscious form of Richie up. “Richie! Richie Rich?! Come on man, wake up!” He slapped Richie but that did nothing, only pulled a half-hearted groan from him which at least let the others know he was alive.

 

“We have to take him to the hospital!” Eddie had shrieked. 

 

“No!” Bobby yelled. “No, he would never forgive me if I took him to the hospital.”

 

“Is that why he looks like he hasn’t been to the hospital to see to his wounds?” Stan asked, pointing out Richie’s battered form.

 

“L--let’s take hi-him to m--my house,” said Bill. He had already pulled out his car keys. “B--Bobby, can you carry him to my car?”

 

“Of course,” Bobby had said, already flinging the unconscious Richie across his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. He followed Bill across the parking lot with Richie swinging across his shoulder, Eddie and the others following behind. 

 

They slumped Richie in the backseat, with Eddie slipping in behind him and propping his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie felt like his heart stopped when Richie unconsciously nuzzled his neck in his sleep.

 

So there he was, asleep on the couch, and still breathing, albeit a little unevenly. Eddie was watching him like a hawk, keeping time with his breathing and pushing his curly hair out of his face. It smelled and felt like he had recently washed it. Eddie enjoyed pushing his hands through it, to try and distract him from the chaos that was currently his mind.

 

_ Why’d you do it, Richie? _ His mind was screaming.  _ Don’t you know that this could  _ _ kill _ _ you?! Did you think about that? Did you think about  _ _ anything _ _?! Did you think about  _ _ me _ _? _

 

Richie mumbled something incoherently in his sleep and Eddie was brought back from his mind to run his hands through his hair again, cursing the idiot while he slept. He really was in love with Richie, he knew. He had known for a long time, but seeing him like this only solidified the fact. He didn’t want Richie to die, he didn’t want any harm to come to him altogether, but he knew that was impossible with Bowers and his gang. He just--

 

He wanted Richie to be happy.

 

He obviously wasn’t happy if he was doing this to himself. Eddie wanted to curse him, kick him,  _ hit _ him for being so idiotic, but he refrained as he watched Richie sleep it off. Something was terribly wrong with him, on an emotional level, and Eddie was determined to fix it. He wasn’t going to stand for his once best friend killing himself. Eddie would--

 

Eddie would never live another day if Richie died, that he knew.

 

Finally, finally,  _ finally _ Richie stirred, blinking open his bleary eyes on the couch. He seemed to be confused as to where he was, and honestly, Eddie wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t been in Bill’s house since he was thirteen. The interior had changed. Eddie moved away when he saw Richie blinking open his eyes, him and the other Losers Club letting his new friends greet him when he woke. Tom and Sammy had raced over from school when Bobby had text them, and Bobby had refused to leave, watching Richie almost as diligently as Eddie was.

 

Eddie heard his friends sigh in relief. “Hey. Hey, man,” he heard Tom say quietly, moving in front of Eddie’s view as he kneeled in front of Richie on the couch.

 

“Um, hey?” Eddie heard Richie reply. “What’re you--where am I?”

 

“Y--you’re at my house,” Bill spoke up, standing in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, his arms folded.

 

“You passed out, dude,” said Bobby, leaning over him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I--I did?” Richie asked. 

 

“What do you remember?” Bobby asked, looking concerned.

 

“Um...getting dressed this morning?” and everyone in the room groaned. “What? What’d I do?”

 

“You, uh, you took oxycontin and vodka on an empty stomach…”

 

“Oh. Did I barf? Cuz you know last time I barfed--”

 

Eddie couldn’t keep quiet. “Last time?!” His voice was shrill. “ _ Last time?! _ Just how many times have you done this?”

 

“In the last month?” Sammy looked at him, totally serious. “Twice.”

 

The Losers Club collectively groaned. “Richie,” said Bev lowly, her pretty face contorted with concern.

 

“What?” asked Richie, raising his good hand in surrender. “It--it helps me--”

 

“Helps you what, Richie?” Bev asked, sounding ready for a fight. “Helps you kill yourself?” She voiced what everyone in the room was thinking, bar maybe his friends.

 

For once in his life, Richie was silent and laid his head back on the couch. Richie’s friends huddled over him and started whispering to him, in voices so silent that Eddie and the others couldn’t hear them.

 

After a few minutes, they un-huddled and Tom announced to the others, “Well, Richie Rich is feeling  _ loads  _ better, so we’re just gonna--go, yeah.”

 

Richie stood up on obviously unsteady feet and his friends quickly righted him, holding him up. Eddie exchanged a look with Bev and sprang into action, Eddie grabbing Richie by the hem of his black, long-sleeved t-shirt, and Bev grabbed his hand. “Just  _ where _ do you think  _ you’re _ going?” Bev demanded. “You just almost OD’d!”

 

Richie blew a raspberry. “OD’d? I didn’t OD, that was only  _ one _ oxy--”

 

“Yeah,” said Sammy. “You should see him on two!”

 

Richie gave him a sour look and Eddie said, shrill, “You can’t do that to yourself, Richie! I won’t—I won’t let you.”

 

Richie looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “You won’t— _ let _ —me?” Eddie didn’t like his tone of voice. It sounded angry,  _ real  _ angry. “Just like—just like you didn’t  _ let  _ me walk away, four years ago? Like all of you?!”

 

“Hey, man,” Mike spoke up. “That’s not fair.”

 

“Not fair?! NOT FAIR?!” Richie screamed, then he winced and held his ribs. His friends grabbed him and held him.

 

“Come on, Richie,” said Tom, trying to pull him away. “Let’s just go, alright?” 

 

“Richie, please!” Eddie pleaded with him, still holding his shirt but Bev had already let him go with an unreadable expression on her face. “Please, I wanna help you!”

 

“You’ve done more than enough, Eds,” said Richie, his face an impenetrable mask, and then he turned to his friends and said, “Let’s go.”

 

His friends helped him stagger out the door and Eddie felt the tears that had been gathered in his eyes spill over. This was bad, but Eddie was not about to give up that easily. He knew Richie might have been opposed to help at first but Eddie was going to find a way.

 

He had to.

 

——

 

Richie was an idiot. 

 

He was a grade A idiot.

 

He couldn’t remember a thing that happened that morning, and that was probably for the best as Bobby told him as they drove back to Richie’s house after Richie freaked out on his old friends. He had caused that look in Eddie’s eyes again, that broken-hearted look, but he couldn’t help it. He had freaked when Eddie mentioned helping him, about not letting him hurt himself.

 

They all let him hurt himself the first time, so why should they care now? Why should Eddie care? Sure, they had a few nice moments together, and more than a few bad ones, but that didn’t make up for the years they spent apart. Richie could tell that Eddie wanted things to be how they were, but things could never go back.

 

Richie was too far gone.

 

He knew this as he cracked open his first beer of the night, sitting cross-legged on his bed with his friends. Bobby and the others looked concerned as he chugged the beer but, to their credit, they didn’t say anything, just watched him as he screwed up his life, over and over. That’s what Richie loved about his friends; they were all messed up in some way, they would feel like hypocrites if they told one of the others to stop.

 

“That little one,” Tom said as he looked down at his own beer can, “he really cares about you.”

 

“Eddie,” said Richie. “His name is Eddie.” Richie couldn’t figure out the look that Bobby was giving him, so he snapped, “ _ What _ ?”

 

“You really don’t remember anything that happened on the way to school today?” Bobby asked hesitantly.

 

“No. Why?”

 

“You—you said some things…”

 

“ _ What. Things? _ ” 

 

“Well, like...how Eddie was the reason you were alive today—“

 

“I said that?” Richie blinked and his face heated up inexplicably.

 

“Yeah, you did. What did you mean by that, man?”

 

“I—I don’t know,” yes, Richie did, he just wasn’t going to say anything. “I was out of it, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

 

Bobby was unconvinced but let it slide. Bobby and the others stayed for a little bit but then they slowly filtered out of the house, leaving Richie alone to wallow in peace and drink until his liver protested. And then he drank some more.

 

He tried not to think about what Bobby said that he said while he was high on oxy and vodka, but his mind kept pushing through his jumbled up memories while he got piss poor drunk, struggling to keep himself upright in the bed. It was late by that point, the sky had gone dark a few hours ago, and Richie was feeling trapped, suffocated by his mind and the oppressiveness of his house.

 

So, he fumbled with a hoodie and put his leather jacket back on and then stumbled out of the house, content to just wander. Apparently though, his drunk mind had other ideas, for he suddenly found himself outside a familiar house, looking up into a window with the light still on. Before Richie could stop himself, he was grabbing a handful of pebbles by the road and throwing them up towards the window. He missed more than he hit, but it got the job done for the face he wanted to see popped his head out of the window.

 

_ Eddie _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh, what's gonna happen next? idk ;)
> 
> sorry if this chapter is shit, i wrote most of it while i was not sober last night on Halloween sooooooo...
> 
> thank you all for all your wonderful comments, really! they are absolutely amazing and i love you all! best readers ever! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> song - it's getting boring by the sea by blood red shoes


	9. i wanna be drunk when i wake up, on the right side of the wrong bed

Eddie couldn’t believe it. He had resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going Richie until tomorrow. He had made a full on plan of get to school early and wait him out, and if he didn’t show, skip school to bang on his door until he finally revealed his face. Eddie was so determined to make everything right, to make Richie  _ whole  _ again. It was so obvious that there were pieces of him missing,  _ crucial  _ pieces. And Eddie was nothing if not determined to find those pieces and glue him back together again, even if it took a lifetime. 

 

At least a lifetime of trying was better than a second of giving up. 

 

Eddie would  _ never  _ make that mistake again; he would  _ never  _ give up on Richie  _ ever again _ . Before the feelings, before Richie walked away, Richie was his best friend. His confidant, the person he knew he could count on when things got tough, as they usually did with his Mom. And what does Eddie do for Richie in return? Instead of fighting it,  _ really  _ fighting Richie walking away, he let it happen. He watched him go and then tried to forget. Forget their friendship and all the happiness they shared.

 

_ Well, never. again. _

 

Eddie should have known Richie would make it hard.

 

He was getting ready for bed, his Mom already snoring in the downstairs bedroom, putting on his pajamas after laying in his bed the past few hours and trying not to have an anxiety attack over what Richie might have been getting up to. He was in the middle of pulling up his shorts over his underwear (Bill and the others teased him that they were  _ too  _ short) when he heard the first tap on his window. 

 

At first, Eddie thought it was a tree branch or something scraping the side of the window and quickly moved on, but when it happened again, well...his heart started thumping wildly, for that only meant  _ one  _ thing. One thing that hadn’t happened in over four years.

 

Ever since Richie had learned to climb, he was always coming over to Eddie’s house at odd hours of the day and climbing up into Eddie’s room, despite his (half-hearted) protests. It was a constant in Eddie’s life for a long time, he always kept his window unlocked just for Richie. 

 

But then, Richie stopped climbing through his window. Stopped hanging out with him or the Losers, and gradually, the window became locked again.

 

Now though,  _ now _ , the lock was being switched off as fast Eddie could manage it, Eddie practically flinging open the window in half-crazed desperation. And there, wobbling slightly on his lanky legs, was Richie.

 

He wore a dumb, lazy smile on his face, staring up at Eddie with an expression that Eddie didn’t want to read into but it made him blush all the same.

 

“Eds!” Richie called, his voice slurring slightly. “Eddie Spaghetti!”

 

The words came out of Eddie’s mouth before he could stop them. “Are you drunk?” He asked, his heart hammering wildly.

 

“A little itty, bitty, tiny bit,” Richie admitted but Eddie didn’t believe him. He was unsteady on his feet. “You gonna let me in or not?”

 

“Can you even climb up here?” Eddie asked, unsure of what else to say.

 

“Pft! That? Easy peasy! Watch and learn, baby,” Eddie looked away for a moment to hide the flush on his face at Richie’s use of the word  _ baby _ , trying to remind himself over and over again that Richie was drunk.

 

Richie ran and jumped up to the first story ledge, grasping it with both hands, which caused him to gasp in pain but he was undeterred, pulling himself up and edging to Eddie’s window. Eddie backed away to let Richie come through…more like  _ tumble  _ through with the way he almost face-planted to floor but at the last second he righted himself and stood there, proud and drunk.

 

“What are you doing here?” Eddie finally asked. He felt that maybe he should have asked that when Richie was still on the ground but his brain to mouth filter wasn’t working very well at the moment, with the fact that  _ Richie  _ was in his room after such a long period of time.

 

Richie nursed his bad hand to his chest, glancing around the room. “Wanted to see you, baby,” he said (more like slurred heavily).

 

“You’re drunk,” Eddie stated again, more for himself than for Richie.

 

Richie looked at him, his glasses slightly askew and he smiled. “So we’ve established. Wow, you’re room really has not changed, Spaghetti Man.”

 

Eddie glanced around his room to see that yes, it really had not changed, not much. His twin bed was swapped out for a nice comfy full size bed but it still sat in the corner and his walls were still a nice rosy pink and everything was still neat and in order. Eddie watched as Richie ran his fingers over the CD rack sitting on Eddie’s desk, nice and organized from most favorite to least. Eddie was embarrassed to note that all the CDs that Richie gave him when they were younger sat at the top.

 

“ _ Niiiccceee _ ,” said Richie, pulling one out. “You still have that Nirvana CD I gave you.”

 

Eddie almost said of course, you idiot. It was a twelfth birthday present and Eddie had cherished it. He and Richie listened to the CD on repeat for days, giggling and smiling over the songs. Instead he said, “What was I gonna do, throw it away?”

 

Richie hummed noncommittally and moved on, looking at the pictures that littered his desk and the ones on the corkboard above. There was one, mostly hidden beneath much more recent pictures, of just Richie and Eddie, sitting with their arms around each other’s shoulders and smiling and laughing at one another. It was taken not too long before Richie inexplicably left and Eddie didn’t have the heart to take it down. Eddie knew that Richie saw it, for he stopped in his perusal of Eddie’s room and just stared for a moment, even reaching out to touch it.

 

Eddie couldn’t read the expression on Richie’s face, which had just been par for the fucking course lately. It frustrated him  _ so  _ much, because when they were younger, Eddie could read Richie’s little micro expressions off the drop of the hat. Now, looking at him, he was like a stranger.

 

He  _ was  _ a stranger.

 

Richie moved on, running his good hand over the many pastel sweaters that Eddie kept hung neatly in his closet, looking at the posters on his wall, and finally completing his circuit by coming back to the bed. Eddie just watched him as he went, feeling so unsure of what to do. At least Richie didn’t seem angry…

 

Richie plopped himself on the bed and just looked up at Eddie, who was still standing in the same spot, rooted like an idiot. “You just gonna stand there all night or are ya gonna come sit with me?” Richie slurred, patting the bed beside him with his good hand.

 

“Why are you here?” Eddie asked again.

 

“I told you. I wanted to see you.”

 

“But why? You seemed pretty mad at me earlier…”

 

“You’re too  _ cute  _ to stay mad at, baby,” Richie winked and Eddie felt himself blush again.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie tried to snap but it sounded weak in his own ears.

 

“What? Cute? What else should I call you?  _ Beautiful _ ?”

 

_ He’s drunk. He’s drunk. He’sdrunkhe’sdrunkhe’sdrunk  _ Eddie tried to repeat it like a mantra in his head, but it was getting so hard to listen when Richie just sat there staring at him with that look on his face. 

 

Like Eddie actually was beautiful in his eyes.

 

_ No _ , Eddie decided as he saw Richie sway in his seat.  _ You’re projecting and he’s drunk _ !

 

“Don’t call me cute and  _ don’t  _ call me baby,” said Eddie, folding his arms, trying to look stern (and probably failing miserably).

 

“But you’re so cute,  _ baby. Cute, cute, cute _ !” 

 

“Stop that!”

 

Richie laughed and it sounded like music to Eddie’s ears, even if he  _ was  _ drunk. “Okay, okay... _ doll face _ .”

 

“Richie!”

 

“Okay, I’ll stop. I’ll stop.”

 

It was silent for a moment, both of them looking at each other, Eddie trying to figure Richie out. He was mad at him earlier, and then he gets drunk and comes stumbling over to his house in the middle of the night, wanting to come in. What did it mean?

 

“I—I’m sorry if I upset you earlier,” Richie said suddenly, surprising Eddie. He was suddenly looking at his feet, as if they were about to fly away. “Ididn’tmeanit,” He slurred. 

 

“It’s okay,” said Eddie, finally coming to sit beside him, albeit hesitantly. “You were right.”

 

Richie looked up, confused. “I was?”

 

“Yeah,” said Eddie. He figured he might as well say it, even if Richie wouldn’t remember in the morning. “We did— _ I  _ did—let you walk away, and for that I’m sorry.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Yes,” Eddie breathed and he did something that sent sparks flying through his arm. He reached out and placed his hand over Richie’s good one, trying to give him some comfort.

 

“Why?” Richie asked and Eddie was dumbfounded.

 

“ _ Why? _ ” Eddie repeated. “Because—because you were my best friend and I should have been there for you, like you always were for me.”

 

Richie took his hand away as if he’d been burned and his face was like an impenetrable mask. “I was a shit friend and you  _ knowit _ ,” He slurred silently, looking off into the distance. “Imma  _ pieceofshit. _ ”

 

“Is that what you think?”

 

Richie looked at him, “That’s what I  _ know _ .” He looked back off into the distance and spoke again after a moment. “You ‘member, that day attheBarrens? When we—when we built that—that  _ dam? _ ” 

 

Of course Eddie remembered that day. He had agonized over that day for  _ years _ , going over every last little detail, to see where everything went so horribly wrong, for  _ that _ was the last day Richie spent as part of the Losers Club. And after years of agonizing, Eddie had come to the conclusion that it had been a  _ perfect  _ day. There were no fights, no slights of any kind, just pure fun between the kids.

 

“Yes,” Eddie whispered, bracing himself for whatever Richie had to say.

 

“That wasssss probly one of the  _ best  _ days ofmylife,” Richie admitted, his face still completely stoic and unreadable.

 

“It was?” Eddie always thought it was probably one of the worst days of Richie’s life, for what had gone  _ so wrong  _ that he left? 

 

“Yep! I had soooo much  _ fun  _ that day with you guyysss, laughing and talking and joking ‘round. The best. I was on cloud nine all the way home, I couldn’t wait forthe _ next _ day, to see if our dam had worked. I got home and—and I don’t know  _ why  _ I did it!”

 

“Did—did what?” Eddie asked.

 

“My  _ Moooommm,  _ she’s a drunk you see and leaves her alcohol  _ alllllll _ _ over _ thehouse, and I see her flask just—just _ sitting  _ there and I—I don’t know, I had a momentary lapse of  _ crazy _ or something? But I—I pick it up, and I bring it to my lips, and just as the liquor passes my lips, my parents come home. My  _ Dad  _ is supporting my drunk Mother, so he doesn’t notice me at first, but  _ myMomdoes _ . She sees me, frightened like a deer caught in the headlights and says ‘ _ Look at our son, Wentworth. Look at what a  _ _ piece of shit _ _ he is. He doesn’t deserve those kids he calls friends. He deserves to be friends with the trash. Our little  _ _ Trashmouth _ _. How  _ _ proud _ _ I am to call my son  _ _ Trashmouth _ _.’  _ I don’t even know  _ how  _ she knew about that nickname, the nickname I—I wore with  _ pride _ , but for the first time,  _ I  _ _ hated _ _ it.  _ My Dad drops my Mother on the couch then grabs me, pulling me by my hair and throwing me against the wall. He grabs the flask and says,  _ ‘You wanna be a grownup, boy? You wanna be a  _ _ drunk _ _ like your Mother? Well  _ _ here _ _ ,  _ _ drink _ _.’  _ And—and then, he’s making me drink the whole thing. The whole flask filled with vodka. By the end, I’m as drunk as skunk and can barely stand, and my Mother just laughs. My Dad looks at me with so much disgust that I—I begin to believe—that I  _ am  _ a piece of shit. And that’s—that’s all I’ll ever be. I’m destined to end up like them. Like my  _ parents _ .”

 

Eddie felt tears silently run down his cheeks. He never knew—never would have guessed that  _ this _ ,  _ THIS  _ was the reason why Richie left. His parents had done this to him, had  _ wrecked _ him. “Richie, I—I’m  _ so  _ sorry,” Eddie silently cried.

 

“No. No, no, no. It was—my own damn fault. I  _ am  _ a piece of shit.”

 

“No, Richie! You’re not!” Eddie argued, putting his hand over Richie’s again and holding him there firmly, willing him to look Eddie in the eyes. When he did, Eddie continued, “That—That next day at the dam, was probably one of the most nerve wracking days of my life. I had been so excited to see if it had worked with you, and when you didn’t show...Oh, Richie, I was so worried about you. We all were. I tried texting you, but you didn’t answer. I tried calling you, still nothing. You know me, by that time I was convinced you were dead or—“

 

“Or  _ worse _ ,” Richie finished with him, a glazed look over his eyes. “While you were freaking out about me, I was making it my mission to track down my new trashy friends: Bobby, Sammy, and Tom.  _ Every _ one in eighth grade knew what they got up to, do I knew that they were perfect. The kinds of friends I deserved. Imagine my surprise when they are as nice and good-natured as the Losers Club, just with alcohol and drug problems. They were my people. They took me in, almost without hesitation, and that very same day I got high for the first time…see? A piece of shit.”

 

“ _ No _ ,” said Eddie firmly, squeezing the life out of Richie’s hand. “No, you are not. You are—an asshole,  _ sure _ , but a funny asshole, a—a good asshole. And—and all of our childhood, you took care of me, better than my Mother ever did. I looked up to you. I—I still do, in fact.”

 

“You do?” Richie seemed utterly surprised by this and Eddie’s heart broke even more.

 

“ _ Yes _ , I do. You’re so brave, Richie,  _ so brave _ . You stood up to Bowers and his bullies for me, and, I have a feeling that these bruises are not from them after all, but from your Father. Am I right?”

 

Richie didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes told Eddie all he needed to know. Eddie was crying again. “I care about you  _ so much _ , Richie. I always have. My heart broke that summer, thinking that our friendship was gone for good, but it’s not. I won’t let it. You—you took care of me, for so long. Now, let  _ me  _ take care of  _ you _ .”

 

Richie stared at him for an inordinate amount of time, his expression completely unreadable. But then, suddenly, he did something Eddie did not expect. He pulled his hand away from Eddie’s again and for one panic stricken moment, Eddie thought he was going to up and leave, but he didn’t. He placed his good hand on Eddie’s cheek and pulled Eddie’s face in close to his, before sealing their lips in a chaste kiss. 

 

The moment their lips touched, Eddie let out a soft whimper, overcome with so many emotions that were threatening to bubble over the surface.  Richie seemed to take Eddie’s whimper as an invitation for more, for he gently massaged Eddie’s jaw open and slipped his tongue inside, rubbing sweetly with Eddie’s. He tasted of cigarettes and whiskey, the latter making Eddie come to his senses and push Richie away, both of them panting heavily.

 

“You’re drunk,” Eddie repeated once more and his heart tugged as Richie’s face crumbled.

 

“I—I’m sorry,” he gasped and tears were already spilling freely from his brown eyes. “I should—shouldn’t have done that. I’m a piece of shit, Eds. I’m a complete and utter piece of sh—“ but his words got cut off as Eddie wound his arms around Richie and pulled him in, settling his head against Eddie’s chest.

 

“ _ Shhhh _ ,” Eddie consoled, rubbing one hand in Richie’s unruly hair and the other up and down his back. “You’re not. And if I have to remind you of that everyday for the rest of our lives, I will, Richie, because I—I love you.” Eddie knew it could be considered a low blow to tell Richie this when he was totally wasted and was for sure not going to remember in the morning, but Eddie also knew that it’s what Richie needed in that moment. He needed to know he was loved.

 

Eddie felt as the dam broke, Richie’s sobs wetting the material of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He was going to hold him and take care of him, all his life if need be. 

 

Eddie was never letting go.

 

——

 

Richie woke up feeling as though his head was about to split in two. He groaned and moved around in his bed to try and find a pillow to burrow under when a smell accosted his nostrils. It was cleanly and smelt a bit of flowers. That was clearly  _ not  _ what Richie’s room smelled like. He gingerly opened his eyes to blearily see that he was not in his room at all.

 

He was in Eddie’s.

 

And there Eddie was, standing opposite the bed, already dressed for the day in a cute pastel sweater with a sewn on red rose over his right breast. He looked unsure as he watched Richie, wringing his hands together in a way that belied his nervousness. 

 

Richie decided to play it cool. “Hey, Eds. Fancy seeing you here.”

 

Eddie bit his lip before answering, “Don’t call me that. How—how’re you feeling?”

 

“Like a dumpster ran over me,” Richie answered honestly. “How did I get here?”

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

“Uh,” Richie wracked his brain but it was all fuzzy with a few bits that he  _ knew _ couldn’t be right, like spilling his deepest darkest secret and Eddie saying—Eddie saying he  _ loved  _ him as Richie cried in his arms. No, that couldn’t be right at all. “Not much,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

 

“No,” said Eddie. “I was getting ready for bed when you tapped on my window like some regular Romeo.”

 

Richie smirked. “You’d be a  _ beautiful _ Juliet, Eds.”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“What? Beautiful?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Richie was fairly certain that Eddie was blushing and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. “Don’t call me  _ Eds _ .”

 

“Oh. So you want me to call you beautiful, then?” Richie teased. How was it that it was always so easy to fall into a rhythm with Eddie, no matter how many times they’d fallen out or not talked to one another. It was always so easy with him. Why was Richie mad at him again?

 

Eddie blushed furiously and sputtered. “D—Don’t call me beautiful, either!”

 

“So, what should I call you?”

 

“Just Eddie!”

 

“Okay,  _ just Eddie _ , I didn’t, uh, do anything  _ stupid _ , did I?” Richie scratched his head, that didn’t seem to ache as much as he stared at Eddie, or tried to anyway (without his glasses, it was hard).

 

Eddie looked away and the moment the words flew out of his mouth, Richie knew he was lying. “Uh, no. No.”

 

“ _ Riiiiiggghhhhtttt _ ,” Richie drawled, not believing him at all and he knew that Eddie knew that. “Um, where are my glasses?”

 

“Oh!” Eddie brightened and turned to his desk and grabbed something before walking over to Richie and placing the glasses in his palm. “Here.”

 

“Thanks, babe,” wow, that just sort of slipped out but once Richie put on his glasses he could see that Eddie was blushing a wonderful red, completely avoiding his eyes. Now that was weird.

 

“So, uh, I figure you’d like some aspirin or something,” Eddie was still not looking at his face but fiddling with a bottle of aspirin by the bed and a glass of water.

 

“Yeah. Thanks, man,” Richie reached out his hand and let Eddie shake out two aspirin before handing him the glass of water. Richie swallowed down the pills and laid his head back down on the wonderfully soft pillow on Eddie’s bed.

 

“Are you, uh, going to go to school today?” Eddie asked, still not looking at him as he checked his pastel green backpack for all his stuff.

 

“Nah,” said Richie. “But I’ll get out of your hair and go hom—“

 

“ _ NO! _ ” yelled Eddie quickly. Too quickly. Something was up. “You can—you can stay here, if you want. I don’t mind.”

 

“What about your Mom?”

 

“She already left for work, she won’t be back till late. Really, it’s no trouble. You can even borrow my laptop and watch shitty movies on Netflix.”

 

“You’d let me do that?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Richie shrugged, not answering. “I guess I could stay here, if you really don’t min—“

 

“I don’t,” Eddie interrupted. “Really, I don’t.”

 

“...okay, if you’re sure…”

 

Eddie smiled at him, a blindingly bright smile that made Richie’s heart hurt and he said, “Great.  _ Great _ . I’ll be back after school, okay?” He hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and made his way to his bedroom door. He paused and looked back, “You gonna be okay on your own?”

 

“Sure, Eds. I’m used to it, really.”

 

Eddie’s smile turned sad for some reason and Richie had a moment of doubt that what he thought was a dream was actually real, that he had actually told Eddie about his fucked up home life, but Eddie fixed his smile back on, saying, “Alright. See you later, Richie.”

 

“Bye, Eds,” Richie watched him go, and was decidedly  _ not  _ looking at his ass he walked away, but it was hard. Eddie had a cute, pert ass that Richie would  _ die  _ if he got to touch. 

 

_ NO! No! Bad Richie!  _ He mentally berated himself and burrowed further under Eddie’s soft white comforter. He spared a thought to where Eddie could have slept last night and looked to his right to see that the bed was slightly rumpled, like someone had laid there.  _ Me and Eddie in the same bed, and I’m blackout drunk?! Great going,  _ _ Trash _ _ mouth. _

 

Richie closed his eyes as he felt the aspirin start to take effect and let himself wander and float back under for some more sleep. He needed it after the day he had yesterday. 

 

He felt safe as he dreamed—and loved. He would swear when he woke up later that he could hear Eddie’s voice whispering to him as he slept:  _ I love you _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting this on my phone so the italicize are probably wrong, but when I get access to a compute tomorrow I will fix it...
> 
> So! Eddie said the big three words! Wonder what Richie will have to say about that once he knows it’s not a dream...;)
> 
> song - drunk by ed sheeran


	10. when i go out, yeah i know i'm gonna be, i'm gonna be the man who goes along with you

Eddie barely made it to lunch before he was doing what he had  _ never  _ done before: skipping school. He was so worried about Richie, and scared that he was going to leave while Eddie was gone and end up back in that hellhole he called home. No, Eddie had to be there for him, now. 

 

During the hustle and bustle of the kids racing to get to lunch, Eddie slipped out the back doors, his heart racing. He snuck around corners and hid in the parking lot until he deemed it safe enough for him to leave, then he was booking it out of there, taking back streets and backyards until he reached his house. He practically threw the front door off it’s hinges, barely pausing to lock the door back before running up to his room like a madman. He banged the door open, his heart beating like a little drummer boy, and for one horrible second he thought his worst fears had come true and Richie  _ did  _ leave him, until he saw him jerk up in the bed, his hair mussed with sleep.

 

“Eddie?” Richie asked croakily, his glasses askew on his face.

 

Taking big, gulping breaths of air to help himself calm down, Eddie said, “Yeah, it’s me.”

 

“School’s over already?” 

 

“Uh, actually, it’s lunchtime,” Eddie looked at his feet, embarrassed by himself.

 

“Oh,” Richie said, fixing his glasses on his face. “Did you forget your lunch or something?”

 

“Uh, no. I, um, wanted to come check on you,” Eddie mumbled, still staring at his feet, feeling a horrible bright pink blush alight his cheeks. He was so nervous that Richie would figure him out, know what Eddie said last night, and that he meant it—every word.

 

“You—wanted to come check on me?” Richie sounded so surprised that Eddie’s heart ached. “That—that’s sweet of you, Eds.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” damn his automatic response, but at least it got a smile out of Richie.

 

“There he is,” Richie grinned, sitting up in the bed. 

 

“How’re you feeling?” Eddie asked, finally looking him in the eye.

 

“Uh, much better, thanks,” Richie was still grinning. “That aspirin really did the trick.”

 

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Eddie didn’t really know what else to say. He didn’t exactly have a thorough plan of action when he ran over to his house, just to make sure Richie was okay. He should go back to school, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay with Richie.

 

“Thanks for uh, checking on me,” Richie scratched his head and looked away awkwardly. Eddie could swear there was a blush rising on his cheeks, but he told himself he was projecting. “If you wanna go back to school now, that’s fine.”

 

“No!” Eddie said, a little too quickly. He shuffled his feet and tried to cover it up by saying slower, “I mean—no.”

 

Richie looked at him and grinned again. “Skipping school for little ole me? Why Eds, I’m flattered.” He touched his chest, putting on a fake Southern drawl.

 

Eddie felt a smile creep up on his face. “Don’t be so flattered. I should probably do the mountain pile of homework I let accumulate last night since I was helping your drunk ass.”

 

“Oh! You wound me so, Edward Spagedward!” Richie cried, and then a chuckle escaped his lips and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh lightly back. Richie looked at him, a gleam in his eye. Everything felt so easy in this moment, so free.

 

Silence fell for a moment as their chuckles died out and Richie seemed to be thinking on something, for he had a faraway look in his eye, but he suddenly said, “Hey, since this is your first time  _ ever _ skipping school, why don’t we make it memorable for ya?”

 

Eddie looked up at that. “What?” He asked, his heart thumping again. “What do you mean?”

 

Richie’s eyes gleamed again and he grinned at Eddie, setting his soul aflame. “Let’s go on an adventure, Eds.”

 

——

 

Richie didn't know why he suggested that he and Eddie go on an adventure, but as he and Eddie walked down the street after taking a little trip to Richie's house so he could change (he didn't understand the sour look on Eddie’s face when he suggested that), he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He knew, logically, that he should be pushing Eddie away, making him run screaming but there was something on Eddie’s face akin to  _ determination _ that made him think that that would be harder than it used to be. And besides, one little “adventure” wouldn't hurt, right?

 

“Where are we going?” Eddie asked as they walked towards town, his hands stuffed under his arms, which Richie thought was so  _ cute. _

 

“Well, I was thinking,” began Richie, “we could go get some ice cream.”

 

“Ice cream?” Eddie repeated, sounding confused. “In this weather?”

 

“ _ Exactly _ . In this weather, there'd be no line, it's perfect!”

 

“If you say so…”

 

“I  _ know  _ so,” Richie smirked sideways at him. “Me and my boys do this all the time.”

 

Eddie didn't say anything. Instead he asked, “How’s your bruises?”

 

Richie shrugged. Truth be told, they hadn't be bothering him that much today. He could get by with taking a few aspirin and feeling relatively okay. “I'm fine,” he said. “That cream does wonders!”

 

“What about your hand?”

 

“It's fine,  _ Mom _ ,” Richie saw this look of utter disgust flash across Eddie's face before he schooled it neutral. Richie didn't understand that, and for the second time that day he had a flash of doubt of what he thought was dream  _ wasn't  _ a dream. He couldn't even begin to fathom the implications of that if it were true. What if Eddie called the cops? His dad would  _ kill  _ him.

 

“Geez, Richie, can't a guy be concerned for you?” Eddie sneered instead and Richie decided that no, it was a dream, and he didn't tell Eddie his deepest darkest secret and Eddie--

 

Eddie didn't tell Richie he loved him.

 

Richie felt like he could live with that (maybe).

 

They walked to Derry’s one ice cream shop, a Baskin Robbins, with Richie trying to fill the silence by talking nonstop, cracking jokes and ribbing on Eddie, trying to get him to crack a smile. Richie felt smug, for he succeeded. Richie was a gentleman and opened the door for Eddie, noticing in the fluorescent lights that Eddie really  _ was  _ blushing. Richie didn’t think about how that sent his stomach into backflips.

 

Richie was right, for there was no one in the ice cream shop and they were able to make their purchases quickly. Eddie got himself a scoop of strawberry ice cream while Richie got a large cotton candy milkshake, grinning at the way Eddie muttered something under his breath about sugar and diabetes. 

 

“What now?” Eddie asked as he brought the cone to his lips and gave a little lick. Richie felt his groin tighten at the sight, seeing Eddie’s little pink tongue swipe out and catch the strawberry ice cream before darting back in.

 

“The park?” Richie suggested. “I could push you on the swings~”

 

“Shut up, dickwad.”

 

Richie said nothing, just gave an obnoxious slurp of his milkshake, delighting in the flavor that burst over his tongue. He  _ loved  _ Baskin Robbins’ cotton candy milkshake, he always got it when he was in there. 

 

He and Eddie walked in companionable silence as they made their way to the park, which was situated right by the Barrens. Richie led them to a park bench, the very same one he and his boys sat on all the time and they both sat down. Richie was trying his damndest not to look at Eddie as he licked his ice cream cone but it was coming increasingly difficult. Every once in awhile he’d sneak a peek and there Eddie was, swirling his tongue in a way that made Richie’s imagination run wild and he’d look away, a blush rising on his cheeks. 

 

“You were right,” Eddie finally said as they sat on the park bench, looking at the fall colors of the trees and the leaves that littered the ground.

 

“I usually am,” Richie smirked, lolling his head in Eddie’s direction, “but what am I right about this time?”

 

“This ice cream was a good idea,” said Eddie. “I hadn’t been to Baskin Robbins in awhile…”

 

“Yeah? Why not? I’m sure the Losers would go.”

 

“Yeah, I just—didn’t go with them,” Eddie looked away awkwardly and a pink flush was on his cheeks, so Richie decided to drop the subject.

 

Silence fell again until Eddie spoke again, his voice quiet but lovely. “It’s beautiful outside, today.”

 

Richie looked around the park before looking back him, the way his curly hair rustled lightly in the wind, the pink of his lips and cheeks, his little hands wrapped around the half-eaten ice cream cone, the way his legs were crossed daintily at the ankles and said, “Yeah, it is.” He inwardly cursed himself at how  _ gone  _ he sounded, how grossly in love he was.

 

_ Oh shit! _

 

Now, Richie remembered what happened while he was out of it on oxy and vodka. He remembered what he said to Bobby, how Eddie was the reason he was still alive right now and how he felt when he saw him in the parking lot. He felt so in love it physically pained him, but it also felt so good,  _ so good.  _ Like it was meant to be or some shit. Looking at Eddie now, he felt the same feeling all over again in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Eds,” He croaked out, his mouth working before his brain could catch up to him.

 

“Yeah?” Eddie looked at him and Richie lost whatever courage he had felt in that moment.

 

“Uhhhhhh I hope I didn’t wake you last night, I was busy doing the nasty with your Mom,” nice going Richie, real smooth.

 

Eddie gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, right. You were passed out all night.”

 

“Awh, did ya stay up all night looking after little ole me?” Come to think of it, Eddie  _ did  _ look a little tired, but that didn’t take away from his natural beauty at all.

 

Eddie flushed again and looked away. “Well, you  _ were  _ pretty drunk,” he mumbled. “I was worried you might vomit and choke to death in your sleep.”

 

“All I’m hearing is that you were worried about me, Eds~” Richie sang, teasing and feeling that light, fluttery feeling in his chest again.

 

“Shut up,” Eddie slightly bumped him with his shoulder and they locked eyes, before bursting into laughter. They laughed and they laughed, feeling so comfortable with each other. Richie couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t understand why Eddie was so determined to be friends with him again, when he let Richie go so easily last time.

 

When their laughter finally subsided, Eddie spoke something so quietly, Richie almost didn’t catch it, but he did and it made his chest  _ ache.  _ “I missed this.”

 

Richie couldn’t help the words that spilled out, “Yeah, me too.”

 

Eddie looked up at him with so much hope in his eyes it was almost sickening to look at him, but Richie didn’t look away. “Richie,” Eddie gasped, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“ _ Everything _ ,” and then Eddie sobbed and Richie’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. “I should have never,  _ never  _ let you walk away. I was an idiot and I’m sorry. I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry.” Eddie was full on crying now, tears streaming down his face in rivulets and Richie didn’t know what the fuck to do.

 

He chuckled nervously and hesitantly put his arm around Eddie, something he hadn’t done in  _ years _ . Electricity ran up his arm at the movement and Eddie audibly hiccuped and relaxed under his arm. “It—it’s okay, Eds. It was my own damn fault,  _ really _ .”

 

Eddie shook his head vigorously. “No,” he said firmly, even with the tears tracking his face. “No, it was  _ my  _ fault. I should have—I should have fought harder,  _ refused  _ to let you go. You were—you were my  _ best friend _ , Richie. And I’m so sorry.” He dissolved into tears again and Richie was panicking. He’d never seen Eddie so upset, except maybe when he found out his pills were placebos.

 

Richie didn’t know what to do, so he just rubbed Eddie awkwardly up and down his back, trying to calm him down. “Shhhh, Eds,” He said. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 

Eddie only sobbed harder. “No, it’s not! I was a horrible,  _ horrible  _ friend! I let you walk and never looked back and I hate myself so goddamn much! I never k—“ he broke off and sobbed again.

 

“You’re  _ not  _ a horrible friend, Eds. You were—you were my best friend too, remember? And I—I just left, without an explanation or anything, and for that,  _ I’m _ sorry,” the words were coming out of Richie now, fast and unbidden and he knew he was opening up a can of worms that he’d long since buried but...maybe if Eddie understood  _ why  _ he left, maybe he wouldn’t hate himself so much. Richie didn’t want Eddie to hate himself, he was too perfect for that. “It was my fault. It was all my fault. I did something—something that I shouldn’t have and I—I paid the price.”

 

Eddie stopped crying and looked up at him, his doe eyes shining with tears. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know all about that.”

 

“You do?” Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

 

“You may have, uh,  _ mentioned  _ what happened that day after we built the dam last night while you were wasted…” Eddie looked awkward, like he didn’t want to mention this to Richie and Richie understood why. 

 

He was having an internal freak out. If  _ that  _ part of the dream really happened, then did that mean—?

 

Did Eddie really say he loved him?

 

Richie’s heart went into overdrive, pumping in his chest so painfully he thought it was going to sprout wings and fly away, just like Richie felt like doing. “ _ Oh _ ,” was all Richie was capable of saying.

 

“Yeah,” Eddie sniffed. “ _ Oh _ . I swear I was never going to bring it up! I just—I just couldn’t believe it—your own  _ parents _ —“

 

“Your Mom ain’t nothing to scoff at neither,” said Richie, trying to divert the attention away from the topic of his parents.

 

Eddie looked down at that. “Yeah, she’s a real piece of work.”

 

Richie couldn’t help it at that. He laughed a little and that brought a smile to Eddie’s face. So, maybe Eddie did love Richie and maybe Richie loved him back, but there was no way Richie was ever going to say anything, no way. Eddie deserved better than him.

 

Way better.

 

——

 

Eddie eventually calmed down, and wiped away his tears, smiling up at Richie who was still laughing quietly. He looked down and saw the milkshake that Richie sat down beside him and said, “Your milkshake is melting.”

 

“Ah, shit!” Richie cursed and he removed the arm around Eddie’s shoulders to grab at it. Eddie immediately felt the loss and tried to not to show his disappointment on his face. 

 

Richie slurped his milkshake obnoxiously and Eddie hit his arm with his elbow but Richie only slurped harder, grinning at him. “Gross, Richie!”

 

“You love it,” Richie said, winking at him and Eddie smirked.

 

“Oh, yeah, I just  _ love  _ the way that diabetes waiting to happen slurps down your throat.”

 

“I knew it.”

 

Eddie scoffed a laugh and shook his head, taking up his own half melted ice cream and licking at the streams of ice cream that had run down the cone. He looked up at Richie as he did, and saw an odd look on his face. A look he saw last night when Richie was drunk out of his mind. 

 

A  _ lustful  _ look.

 

Maybe,  _ maybe _ Richie wanted Eddie. 

 

Maybe he could work with this, maybe Richie wanted him the way Eddie wanted him. Maybe Richie could love him the way Eddie did, all consuming and heart-wrenching, gut twisting and heart pumping.

 

He licked the ice cream again, trying to look as innocent as possible and saw that spark light up in Richie’s eyes again. And again, and again. Eddie smirked inwardly again as he saw Richie literally rip his eyes away from Eddie’s mouth and crossed his legs.

 

“You okay, Richie?” Eddie asked innocently, trying hard not to snicker.

 

“Yeah,” Eddie almost victory pumped the air when Richie’s voice came out strangled and choked. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah,” but Eddie didn’t miss the way Richie’s eyes roamed over the melted ice cream cup in his hand and how his eyes lingered on his mouth for a moment before looking away. “Yeah.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

Eddie wanted Richie, he wanted him so bad, and he was beginning to have a feeling Richie wanted him too, if last night was any indication. That  _ kiss _ , that  _ kiss, that kiss!  _ Eddie couldn’t forget about that kiss and he wished Richie didn’t either but—maybe he didn’t…

 

Maybe Eddie could show him, in small, little steps, that he loved him. That he could take care of him, and help him and love him the way Richie always did for him.

 

Maybe they could be together…

 

Maybe…

 

Either way, he was never going to leave him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooooo...some teasing yet tentative Eddie may be in the cards for the future ;)
> 
> song - i'm gonna be (500 miles) by sleeping at last
> 
> P.s. I'm doing this on my grandad's iPad because I don't have a functioning computer right now, so if it's shit, I apologize:)


	11. and i’m a goddamn fool, but then again so are you

Richie could swear Eddie was doing this on purpose.

 

It was Saturday night, and for once, Richie wasn’t going out to get high with his friends (he had done that earlier that day). No, he was at Eddie’s house for the fourth time that week. After their little “bonding” moment at the park on Thursday, where Eddie confirmed that Richie had in fact spilled his guts about his abusive parents when he was drunk the night before, it became an unspoken agreement that Richie could sneak into Eddie’s room whenever he was feeling suffocated in his house. Richie didn’t think about how that had been every night since Wednesday.

 

And every night, Eddie was wearing those damn shorts. Shorts that framed his ass perfectly, and that made Richie want to drool. Wow, what a looker Eddie was.

 

Richie was so frustrated. He hadn’t had sex in weeks and was feeling pent up with tension. And Eddie currently bending over in his room to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor was decidedly  _ not  _ helping matters.

 

Richie tried not to groan as he pulled out his flask that he kept hidden in the inside of his leather jacket and took a long pull off the vodka, letting it burn down his throat. Getting drunk at that moment felt like a very good idea.

 

“Richie!” Eddie scolded, now standing up and glaring at him with his mouth around the flask.

 

“What?” He asked, taking another pull. “It helps with the pain.”

 

At that, Eddie softened visibly and said, “Just don’t get rip-roaring drunk, okay? I’d hate for you to puke all over my clean floor.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Richie, putting the flask away. He looked at Eddie who had sat down at his desk and was writing something on that piece of paper that had fallen to the floor. “Whatcha doin?”

 

“Making a list.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Of all the times you were nosy, it’s getting pretty long,” Eddie snarked and Richie grinned. 

 

He missed this, he really did. Some part of his brain was screaming at him to push Eddie away, to make him hate him like he inevitably will, but a quieter side that Richie was listening to told him to see where this was headed. Eddie  _ had  _ been his best friend once upon a time, and his company was like a balm on Richie’s soul, warming him up and healing him. 

 

It was a very slow process.

 

“Hardy ha ha,” Richie said. “What is it really about?”

 

“Stuff—for the Losers Club…”

 

“What kind of stuff?”

 

“What is this? Twenty Questions?”

 

Richie raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just curious.”

 

“If you  _ must  _ know, it’s a list for things for our annual Thanksgiving party,” Eddie looked away, awkward.

 

“You guys have a Thanksgiving party?”

 

“Yeah. And a Christmas one too. We don’t have them on the  _ actual  _ holidays, because some go out of town, but yeah, we hang out.”

 

“And do what?”

 

“Well, for Thanksgiving, we eat. Like a shit ton. I swear I gained ten pounds on the last one,” Richie laughed silently. Eddie looked up at him. “Do you and your friends do anything for the holidays?”

 

Richie scratched his head. “No, not really. Bobby and Tom always go out of town and Sammy is a decided atheist so he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, soooo…”

 

“You can celebrate Christmas without believing in God,” said Eddie. “I mean—I do.”

 

Richie looked at him. He didn’t know why he felt vaguely surprised, but he did. “You don’t believe in God?”

 

“Not really,” Eddie shrugged. “I can’t really believe in a God who would send me to Hell just for liking boys. Why? Do you?”

 

“Not really,” Richie echoed. His reasoning was silent but they both understood it. Why would he believe in a God that gave him such shitty parents? 

 

“Well, anyways,” said Eddie, changing the subject. “Would you...want to come?”

 

“To the—to the Thanksgiving party?” Richie felt his heart pump.

 

“Yeah,” Eddie wasn’t looking at him, still writing on the piece of paper.

 

“I’m not sure the others would like it…”

 

“I’ll talk to them,” said Eddie. “It could be fun.”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Just—think about it, okay? It’d be really cool if you came,” Eddie smiled at him and Richie’s heart clenched painfully. He looked away.

 

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

 

Richie hadn’t mentioned his late night excursions with Eddie to his friends and he had a feeling Eddie hadn’t mentioned them to the Losers Club either. Richie knew his friends wouldn’t mind but...he kinda wanted to keep this to himself. He wanted something for himself, something that was only his, and it was good. Maybe Eddie felt the same way. But if Richie went to that Thanksgiving party, everything would change. Maybe the Losers would be okay with it, maybe they wouldn’t be. How awkward. He couldn’t imagine sitting at Bill’s house (because of course, that’s where everyone hung out) and having a Thanksgiving meal with them. He supposed it would probably feel like an awkward family Thanksgiving. He wouldn’t exactly know, he’d never had a Thanksgiving family meal.

 

Silence ensued as Eddie wrote out the list, scrawling it in big, loopy handwriting. Richie watched him as he wrote, finding it adorable the way the tip of his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth while he concentrated. Richie wanted to kiss that mouth so bad, but he kind of had a feeling he already had, he just couldn’t remember it very well. All he could remember was the feel of soft, sugary sweet lips against his own. Richie wanted to know if Eddie really did taste like strawberries or if it was just his imagination. 

 

But he wouldn’t kiss him (again) because Eddie deserved more, so much more, than Richie. He deserved a nice, sweet guy who swept him off his feet and wasn’t drunk or high all the time. Someone who didn’t crack lame jokes about his Mom to cover up his own feelings of insecurity. 

 

Eddie deserved better than that.

 

——

 

Eddie was going crazy.

 

Just how many hints would it take for him to drop until Richie stopped being oblivious and started touching him? He had hoped the shorts would work, bending over in them and showing off the ass he knew Richie thought was fantastic, but no dice.

 

He got nothing more than a few glazed stares, and he was going crazy!

 

Eddie knew it was just the horny teenage boy in him, and he also knew that it would do nothing to solve Richie’s long-term problems, but dammit, he wanted Richie to grab him and pull him into a searing kiss like the one he’s seen Richie share with others and bend him over! It didn’t help that Richie had slept over every night that week since their “adventure” on Wednesday. Eddie had to force himself to wake up early to deal with the embarrassing morning wood he sported (he took a cold shower, he wasn’t  _ that  _ horny), because Richie had the habit of rolling over from his side of the bed and curling around Eddie in his sleep, like a big, overgrown octopus. Eddie hated to admit it, but he liked it,  _ a lot. _

 

Eddie never thought Richie as dumb, he was smarter than most actually, but it seemed that in this department he was as oblivious as Ben was when Bev started flirting with him (read:  _ very _ ). Eddie nearly had a panic attack yesterday over the thought that Richie  _ did  _ notice but just didn’t say anything because he was a nice guy and didn’t want to hurt Eddie’s feelings. That the kiss they shared while Richie was drunk was just that, Richie being drunk. But then, every once in awhile, Eddie would sneakily glance at Richie, like when he was doing homework and his mouth was wrapped around the end of his pen, and he’d see that same glazed, lustful look shining in his eyes, and he knew he wasn’t imagining it.

 

The look was real. 

 

Richie wanted him.

 

Eddie just had to figure out a way to get him to act on it, before he went insane with sexual frustration. He was going wild with all the images his mind conjured up: Richie slowly undressing him, their kisses hot and heavy, their hands tangling together while Richie fucked his brains out...Eddie really had to stop before he had a conniption right in front of him.

 

He tried to focus on the list he was making but was finding it impossible to do so. He was pretty sure he’d written ‘turkey’ on there twice, so that was a good indicator that his mind was elsewhere. 

 

He sighed and gave up, putting the pink gel pen down and stretching his arms. He was tired from a day spent at the Quarry with the other Losers and he figured he needed a shower. He got up from his desk and rummaged around in his drawers for some pajamas.

 

“What’re you doing?” asked Richie, who had pulled his flask out again.

 

“Getting some pajamas,” said Eddie. “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

Richie said nothing, just took a giant pull off his flask, not even grimacing as the vodka surely burned his throat. 

 

Eddie grabbed his pajamas and made his way into his pastel pink tile bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He had his phone with him and a little external speaker already set up on the counter. He liked listening to music while showering, sue him. He turned the water warm and discarded his clothes, thinking about the fact that Richie was just on the other side of the door. He turned on his speaker and looked for his phone for some good music to play while he showered. Smirking, he found one and hit play. ‘Do I Wanna Know’ by the Arctic Monkeys filtered out of the speakers and Eddie had never felt more brazen in his life. 

 

He stepped into the shower and washed himself as thoroughly as he could, making his hair smell like strawberries with the new scented shampoo he bought and his body smell like fresh peaches. He felt so clean when he stepped out of the shower and smelled so good, he thought there was no way Richie was going to be able to resist him. 

 

No way.

 

He took his time drying his hair (he never went to bed with his hair wet) and getting his pajamas on, another set of shorts and an oversized pink Nirvana sweatshirt. He was sure Richie was going to go crazy. Taking a deep breath, he opened the bathroom door after turning off his music and the steam from the bathroom filtered out along with the overwhelming scent of fruit. His nervousness quickly turned to disappointment, however, when he notice Richie sitting on his bed, shotgunning a beer.

 

“What did I say about not getting drunk?” God, Eddie sounded like his Mother. “And where in the hell did you get that beer?”

 

Richie finished off the beer with a large burp, causing Eddie to grimace, before motioning to his backpack that he had carried with him. “I brought all kinds of alcohol, Eds. I was hoping to see you loosen up a little~”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped. “And that feels an awful lot like peer pressure to me.”

 

“Awh, come on Eddie! Just one little beer~” Richie sang, waving a beer in his face before he turned mischievous. “Or are you too much of a pussy?”

 

“You’ve seen me drunk before, dopehead,” oops, wrong thing to say, Eddie mentioning the night-that-shall-not-be-named, as Eddie called it in his mind. He saw Richie’s face fall and he softened, grabbing the beer out of his hands. “Gimme that.”

 

Richie brightened and cheered, before pulling out a pocketknife and holding it out for Eddie to take. “You have to shotgun it.”

 

“I  _ have  _ to?”

 

“Come on, Eds!  _ Be a man _ !”

 

“Fuck you very much, Richie,” but Eddie was grabbing the pocketknife and cutting into the bottom of the beer before putting his mouth over the hole and cracking it open. Richie whooped as the Eddie gulped down the beer, and Eddie felt his face flush from the alcohol and the sense of camaraderie between them, even if they were currently underage drinking while his Mom slept in the downstairs bedroom. Eddie finished off the beer and smiled wide as Richie golf clapped him, and bowed cheekily.

 

“Nice, Eds. Very nice indeed,” Richie said, putting on a fake posh English accent and Eddie giggled, already feeling lightheaded. Richie reached back into his backpack and pulled out two shot glasses (where the hell he got those, Eddie had no idea) and a bottle of tequila. “Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” Richie sang, ignoring Eddie’s protests as he poured them out on Eddie’s desk.

 

“Why are you trying to get me drunk?” Eddie whined when Richie handed him the shot.

 

“Contrary to what happened  _ that _ night, I think you could be a fun drunk,” Richie said, looking over the rim of his shot glass and giving Eddie an indecipherable look.

 

Eddie said nothing and took the shot glass, downing it when Richie counted to three and making a face that Richie seemed hilarious, for he burst into laughter. “Yeah, yeah,” gasped Eddie as the tequila burned down his throat. “Keep laughing, dickwad.”

 

“Another! Another!” Richie crowed, jerking the shot glass out of Eddie’s hand and pouring two more. This time, Eddie downed it without hesitation and was proud of himself for minimal face gag, although Richie still chuckled at him a little. That asshole could probably down gasoline and make not so much as a twitch.

 

Two more shots later and Eddie felt pretty damn drunk. He was swaying slightly from where he sat on his bed, legs crossed Indian style and he couldn’t stop the dopey smile on his face as he stared at Richie, who seemed to be doing a lot better than him, at least externally. He looked at Eddie and smiled at him. “You doing okay, Eds?” He asked, his voice only slightly slurred.

 

“Don’t call me  _ that _ ,” snapped Eddie and his voice slurred  _ a lot _ . 

 

“You know you love it,” smirked Richie and Eddie sighed happily.

 

“I do.”

 

——

 

Oh, man,  _ deja vu _ .

 

Richie felt his heart go into overdrive as he remembered his dream. His dream that involved that exact same line that Eddie muttered and the hot and heavy kisses they shared as they fell back on Richie’s bed. He felt his face go hot at the memory so he cracked open another beer, trying to dull the feelings. 

 

It didn’t work.

 

Eddie was still looking at him with that lovestruck look in his eyes and Richie felt his body begin to respond in kind, his own eyes betraying him as they stared at each other. Richie felt truly drunk now and his inhibitions were lowered considerably.

 

Maybe, maybe if he just kissed him once, it’d get whatever he was feeling for him out of his system and they could just go back to being...whatever they were now.

 

Yeah, maybe he could.

 

(Richie was an utter fool)

 

“Eds,” He slurred, leaning forward.

 

Those big, doe eyes of his looked up at Richie, so full of trust and love that Richie didn’t feel like he deserved at all and said, “Yes, Richie?”

 

“I’m—I’m going to kiss you now. Is that—is that okay?”

 

Eddie smiled. “ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed and leaned forward too.

 

Richie reached forward and placed his unsteady hands on Eddie’s face pulling him forward. Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed and he felt his own eyes close as he brought Eddie in and their lips, they finally touched. Richie nearly gasped as he felt the electricity run through him as their lips connected and he could feel Eddie as he whimpered slightly into the kiss. 

 

_ How cute. _

 

Richie felt bold with the alcohol running through his system so he ran his tongue lightly across Eddie’s lips that tasted faintly of strawberries (he knew it!) and Eddie opened up immediately. Their tongues met in the middle and tangled sweetly, and Richie felt himself groan silently. Eddie suddenly wrapped his arms around Richie, pulling him even closer and leaning back until they fell on the bed, neither of them breaking the kiss. Richie situated himself between Eddie’s legs and felt as Eddie wrapped his thighs around him, rutting his groin against Richie’s.

 

This time, Richie groaned audibly.

 

They finally pulled away to catch their breath and Richie kissed further down Eddie’s face, sucking hickeys into his neck and Eddie moaned. It was like a beautiful symphony to Richie’s ears, the best music he’d ever heard.

 

“Don’t stop,” Eddie breathed, curling his hands into Richie’s curly tendrils and pulling, eliciting another moan from him.

 

“You want to?” Richie asked, breathless and excited.

 

“Yes,” said Eddie. “Yes, yes, yes!”

 

Richie grinned, his soul on fire, burning up his insides and he sucked another hickey on Eddie’s neck before reaching down and pulling up his sweatshirt underneath his armpits, exposing light tan flesh and rosy pink nipples. God, Eddie was gorgeous. Richie latched onto to a nipple and Eddie moaned again, sweet and soft. The sound went right to Richie’s cock and he rubbed his hardness against Eddie’s, both of them groaning. 

 

Richie traced kisses down Eddie’s front until he reached the bulge in his shorts and mouthed over it, forming a wet patch. Eddie moaned and raised his hips. Richie took this as a sign to remove those beautiful shorts, so he pulled them down along with his boxers, exposing Eddie’s wonderful cock. It bounced to life, slapping against Eddie’s stomach and Richie had to have his mouth on him,  _ now _ .

 

Richie grabbed Eddie’s cock in his hand and wrapped his lips around him, tasting him for the first time—and what a taste it was. Salty and sweet, just like his Eds. Richie sucked him all the way down, swirling his tongue over the head and Eddie gasped, lifting his hips again. 

 

“Oh—oh, Richie!” Eddie gasped.

 

Richie pulled off with a pop and smiled at him. “Yeah, Eds?”

 

“I love you,” Eddie breathed and then he stopped, realizing what he just said.

 

Richie stopped too and pulled away from Eddie’s cock, sitting up and adjusting his glasses. He felt sick suddenly, real sick. Eddie couldn’t love him, Richie didn’t deserve it. Richie didn’t deserve any of this. And what was he doing, taking advantage of Eddie while they were both drunk. Richie couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t understand how someone as beautiful and kind and vivacious as Eddie could ever love  _ him _ .

 

So Richie did the only logical thing to do in that situation. 

 

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a day late, I’ve been having internet and computer problems and I’m still posting these on my phone for the time being, so please bear with me!:)
> 
> All of you guys are great btw and I love all the feedback I’m getting, seriously <3
> 
> song - the lion’s roar by first aid kit


	12. it’s gonna take a lot to take me away from you

_ I fucked up. I fucked up. IfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedup. _

 

That’s what ran through Eddie’s head all night Saturday after Richie turned tail and left after Eddie drunkenly spilled his love for him, and all day Sunday while he holed himself up in his room, crying with a massive hangover. Wow, Eddie was such an idiot! He knew, logically he  _ knew _ that Richie wasn’t ready for a confession like that. Richie hated himself so much already, there was no way he was going to believe something like that, especially when it was coming from someone who was drunk. It was so much easier when Richie was the drunken one, for it was a sure bet that he wouldn’t remember in the morning, and he didn’t, until Eddie had to be the drunken fool.

 

God, he hated himself!

 

He hated himself while he got dressed for school that morning, brushing his teeth vigorously and trying to put  _ some  _ effort into his appearance, although he didn’t really feel like it. He just wanted to curl up under his covers and never come out again, never face  _ Richie  _ again. But he had to, he made a promise with himself to never give up on Richie no matter how much he fucked up.

 

And this time, it was Eddie who fucked up. Big time.

 

He tried to make himself look natural as Bill picked him up for school, but he must not have been succeeded for Bill looked at him in the backseat and said, “You—you okay, Eddie?”

 

Eddie had been staring out the window (more like glowering) and jerked himself out of his daze. “What? Oh! Yeah, yeah.”

 

Stan looked at him this time. “Are you sure? You look kind of upset…”

 

“Who’s upset?” Bev asked as she flung herself into the truck, sidling up beside Ben and taking his hand in hers instantly. Eddie was immediately overcome with jealousy. Why couldn’t he and Richie have that?

 

“No one,” said Eddie, snapping. “I’m fine. Really.”

 

The others didn’t look convinced and Bev gave him a look that said that they were definitely going to talk about it later but gratefully, they all dropped it for the time being. Eddie walked to his locker like a man walking to the gallows, dreading and looking forward to seeing Richie, to see how he would react seeing Eddie, to see if he would ignore him or not.

 

He did.

 

Richie walked right past him with his friends, laughing and talking and pushing and shoving, and didn’t even give Eddie the time of day. Eddie would be lying if said it didn’t hurt, a lot. He slammed his locker door shut and walked purposefully past him, even shoving past him a bit and making his hips shake, just to let Richie know what exactly he’d been missing. He refused to look at him, too afraid of what he’d might see in Richie’s eyes.

 

“Dude, what’s little dude’s problem?” Eddie heard one of Richie’s friends ask as he pushed past them on the way to his class.

 

“I have no fucking idea,” Richie said and Eddie almost stopped there and whipped around to look at him disbelievingly but instead he just walked faster and made a deal with himself to corner Richie at an opportune time.

 

But what in the hell was he going to say?

 

Eddie agonized over it all during the classes before lunch, going through a million different scenarios in his head, 99% of them ending badly, while the other 1% ended in Richie apologized for bolting and confessing his own love for Eddie.

 

_ Yeah, right _ .

 

Eddie found his moment as he was walking to lunch. For once, Richie was alone, walking in the opposite direction towards the bathroom, his hands in his pockets. Eddie silently followed him, waiting until Richie was inside before busting in, startling him.

 

“Jesus!” Richie cursed, his mouth around a cigarette and his back facing him. He turned around and the words coming out of his mouth died on his lips. “ _ Oh _ ,” was all he managed to say.

 

“Yeah,  _ oh _ ,” Eddie ground out, slamming the door behind him. “What the hell, Richie?!”

 

“What do you mean ‘what the hell?’” Oh, Richie was NOT playing that game again!

 

“Don’t play dumb, you know what!” Eddie yelled.

 

“No, I don’t!”

 

Eddie stormed up to him, and shoved him back. “We are NOT DOING THIS AGAIN!”

 

“Doing what?!” Richie screamed.

 

“I’m tired of you pushing me away! So we kissed, so what?! So—so I said I loved you, who cares? It’s okay that you don’t feel the sam—“

 

“BUT I DO!” Richie screamed at him and then the cigarette fell from his fingers in shock. Eddie just stopped and stared, just  _ stared _ . He couldn’t find words. He never thought—“But,” Richie continued, looking at his feet, “it doesn’t matter. You  _ can’t  _ love me. I’m no good for you, Eddie. I don’t—I don’t deserve you.”

 

Eddie finally found his words. “Is that what this is about?” Richie wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I don’t “deserve” you? What kind of bullshit excuse is that?! Who cares if you deserve me or not? It’s not about deserve! We love each other, isn’t that enough?”

 

Richie didn’t say anything so Eddie grabbed his hand, that was shaking, and continued, “We can work this out, Richie. I’m not letting you walk away again, I won’t!”

 

“I—I don’t know how to love, Eds,” Richie mumbled, still not looking at him. “And I don’t know how to be loved either.”

 

Eddie’s heart broke at that statement but he kept on, determined. He reached up and hooked Richie under his chin, forcing him to look Eddie in the eyes. “It’s okay, Richie. We can figure it,  _ together _ .”

 

Then he leaned up on his tiptoes and pressed his mouth against Richie’s warm and full of love. This was the first time they were kissing when either of them was sober and if Eddie thought those kisses were amazing, then this one felt—

 

_ Magnetic. _

 

——

 

Richie couldn’t believe it. He was kissing Eddie, and they were both sober! It felt like a dream. A wonderful, magnetic,  _ crazy  _ dream. 

 

And Richie never wanted it to end.

 

He grabbed Eddie’s face and pulled him flush to him, deepening the kiss and sending his mind into a tailspin. Admitting to Eddie he was in love with him was—it was gut-wrenching but felt so good,  _ so good  _ to just get it out there. And Eddie was in love with him too, and kissing him, right there in that bathroom. 

 

God Richie wanted to fuck him.

 

He pulled apart and grinned at the way Eddie whined and tried to pull him back in, but he stopped him whispering, “You wanna get outta here?”

 

“Like, skip school?” Eddie asked, those doe eyes shining with something that Richie could describe as lust.

 

“Yeah, like skip school,” laughed Richie. “We could go to my place and, ya know…”

 

“Fuck?” Eddie asked this so innocently, but Richie saw the mischievous glint to his eyes.

 

Richie felt himself harden at that and said, “Yeah,  _ fuck _ . If you want to, that is!”

 

“Oh, I want to,” Eddie pulled him down for another kiss, ending any further conversation. “I’ve wanted to for a long time,” he whispered against Richie’s lips.

 

“How long?” Richie breathed, feeling excited.

 

“Since I saw you sucking face with Janet Fourier in 9th grade.”

 

Richie raised a brow. “That long, huh?”

 

Eddie blushed, so pretty. “Shut up and take me the fuck home.”

 

Richie grinned, took his hand and did just that. They stole out of the parking lot, deftly avoiding teachers and staff and half ran down the street towards Richie’s house. “Don’t worry,” he called to Eddie as they ran, “my parents aren’t home. They never are!”

 

“If I ever see your parents, I’m going to punch them both in the face,” said Eddie in response as they ran up the doorstep to Richie’s house.

 

“ _ Hot _ ,” was all Richie could mutter as he unlocked the door before Eddie was pushing him inside, attacking his lips with a ferocity. Richie slammed the door shut and Eddie pushed him against it, wrapping his arms around his neck in a vice-like grip. Richie ran a hand over one of Eddie’s jean clad thighs and pulled it up over his hip, trailing it down until he finally,  _ finally  _ got a handful of Eddie’s glorious ass.

 

Richie could right fucking sonnets about Eddie’s ass. It was plump and pert, and filled his hand perfectly. He especially liked the way Eddie moaned when he squeezed his cheek, and then lightly slapped it, startling out a crazed giggle.

 

“You like that, baby?” Richie breathed as they pulled apart, gasping for air.

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” was all Eddie said before diving back in, and sticking his tongue back inside Richie’s mouth. His face was painted a pretty pink and Richie loved it. 

 

He loved him.

 

RICHIE LOVED EDDIE!

 

He wanted to scream it from the rooftops. He loved this fabulous, sassy, sweet, wonderful boy and somehow, someway, he loved him back. Richie couldn’t believe his luck.

 

“Let’s take this up to my room,” Richie whispered when they pulled apart again.

 

“Okay.” Richie took his hand and led the way up the stairs into his room, quickly discarding the bottles of alcohol on his bed and smoothing it out so it’d seem somewhat cleanly to Eddie, but he didn’t seem to care. Eddie grinned and pushed him back onto the bed before climbing over him and straddling him, leaning down for another searing kiss while pulling at Richie’s clothes.

 

“Of all the ways I thought today would go, I’d never thought that  _ this _ would be the outcome,” Richie grinned as he pulled off his jean jacket and black long-sleeved shirt, revealing his lanky frame.

 

“Me neither,” whispered Eddie as his eyes roamed Richie’s upper body, and by the way Richie felt a jumping in Eddie’s groin, he very much liked what he saw, which pleased Richie greatly. “But I’m not complaining.”

 

“Me neither,” Richie grinned and he sat up to cup Eddie’s face and pull him into another kiss, more chaste this time, gentle. He never really shared gentle kisses with the people he fucked, but Eddie was different. Eddie was the one he loved.

 

Eddie leaned back once they stopped kissing and pulled off his pastel orange sweater, throwing it somewhere across the room. If this was a different moment, Richie would have commented on the lack of cleanliness Eddie was exuding but at the moment? He was awestruck. Eddie was gorgeous. His light tan skin seemed to shine from Richie’s point of view and his nipples were alert, meaning he was just as aroused as Richie was.

 

“God, you are beautiful,” Richie couldn’t help but say and his heart thumped painfully in his chest at the way Eddie smiled shyly at him.

 

“You think so?” Eddie asked.

 

“I know so,” Richie replied before surging back up and kissing him again before running the pads of his thumbs over Eddie’s nipples, causing a kitten moan to escape him.

 

Richie pressed kisses down the base of Eddie’s throat, and darkened the hickeys he left the other night, making them stark and dark against his skin. He wanted all the world to see, even if they didn’t make it public, that Eddie belonged to someone.

 

Eddie belonged to Richie. 

 

He belonged with Richie.

 

Richie was a fool, and he was never letting Eddie go. Even if Eddie one day ran away screaming. 

 

Richie branded his hands down Eddie’s front before winding them around his back and cupping his ass again, getting two handfuls. “Your ass is the stuff of dreams,” Richie couldn’t help but say.

 

“I know,” Eddie replied cheekily and if Richie wasn’t more in love with him, wow.

 

“Oh, you know, huh?” Richie teased, slapping him more forcefully than before and Eddie jerked against him, his arousal evident against Richie’s thigh.

 

“Oh, you like that?” Richie grinned. Eddie didn’t answer, blushing profusely until Richie slapped his ass against, making him moan even louder. “Are you going to be a good boy for me, Eds?”

 

It was a testament to how far Eddie was gone, for he didn’t tell Richie to not call him that. Instead, he just nodded helplessly and buried and his face in Richie’s neck. “I bet you’re a good boy,” Richie continued. “I bet you’re gonna be so good for me.”

 

“Yes,” Eddie whimpered as Richie licked a long stripe from his ear down to his collarbone.

 

“What do you want, baby?” Richie whispered to him. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“I want,” Eddie said, pulling back to look Richie in his eyes, “I want to put my mouth on you.”

 

Richie felt himself harden even more at that, if that was even possible, and he grinned. “Okay, baby, if that’s what you want.”

 

“It’s what I want,” and with that, Eddie pushed Richie back down on the bed and moved so he was in between his thighs, mouthing at Richie’s clothed cock.

 

“ _ God _ ,” Richie cursed.

 

Eddie grinned and teasingly pulled his zipper down with his teeth, exposing Richie’s black briefs with a noticeable bulge. “You want me, Richie?” Eddie asked teasingly. How Eddie was able to sound so innocent at a time like this, Richie had no idea, but it turned him on even more.

 

“Yes!” said Richie. “Fuck yes!”

 

Eddie grinned and pulled down his jeans, along with his briefs, exposing Richie’s excruciatingly hard cock. Richie noticed how Eddie almost salivated at the sight and said, “You gonna stare all day or you gonna put your mouth on me?”

 

Eddie gave him an unimpressed look. “Beep beep Richie.” But then he leaned down and took Richie into his mouth, all the way to the root.

 

“Holy shit!” Richie cursed, his back arching off the bed and his hands winding their way into Eddie’s hair.

 

Eddie looked up at him with his doe eyes and sucked him up and down, with an odd sort of expertise. “Have you done this before?” Richie asked breathlessly.

 

Eddie tapped the side of his nose and said nothing, just sucking Richie down with an expert quality. He pulled back and jacked him off a bit, swirling his thumb around his slit and making Richie see stars before taking him down again and running his tongue on the underside of his cock. Richie’s hands were like a vice in Eddie’s hair, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seemed like he was enjoying it, based on the moans Richie elicited from him, vibrating straight through his dick.

 

Finally, enough was enough. “Stop. Stop!” Richie screamed, pulling on Eddie’s hair enough to pull him off his dick. At Eddie’s questioning look, he said, “If you did any more, I was going to cum.”

 

At that, Eddie smirked wide and brought himself back up so his lips would touch Richie’s and said, “Good to know I have  _ some  _ talent.”

 

“You have lots of talent, Eds,” said Richie, pecking him on the lips before flipping them over so that he was on top. “You’re smart—“ he kissed his stomach. “You’re funny—“ he kissed his nipples. “You’re sassy—“ he kissed his chin. “You’re so good it physically hurts me.” At that he kissed his lips and then Eddie pulled away, smirking.

 

“If I was so good, then how come I almost blew your mind sucking your cock?”

 

“See?  _ Sass _ ,” Richie grinned and kissed him again before finding his way to Eddie’s jeans and fumbling with the button and zipper. Eddie grinned and lifted his hips so Riche could remove the offending clothes and see his body in full. “You are  _ breathtaking _ ,” he breathed once Eddie’s body was on full display.

 

“You aren’t so bad either,” Eddie smirked and Richie loved him so much in that moment, he wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let go.

 

“I want to—I want to do something, if that’s okay,” said Richie.

 

“Anything you do is okay with me,” Eddie breathed.

 

“I feel like you are going to regret that later on,” Richie smirked but he grabbed Eddie’s legs and pulled them up so that they were folded before laying down between them.

 

“What’re you going to do?” Eddie asked.

 

“Something that will  _ blow your mind _ ,” said Richie, then he spread Eddie’s cheeks and licked a hot wet strip across his entrance.

 

“HOLY SHIT!” Eddie screamed, arching off the bed and instinctively clenching his ass.

 

“Relax, baby, relax,” Richie cooed. “I’m gonna take good care of you, I promise.”

 

Eddie nodded his head and screwed his eyes shut, letting Richie get on with it. Richie licked into him, probing his tongue gently into Eddie’s taut flesh, getting past the taught rim of muscle. Soon, Eddie was relaxed enough that Richie could sneak a finger around his hole, teasing him until Eddie exploded, “Just do it, already!”

 

“As you wish,” said Richie and he immediately thought about The Princess Bride and how Westley always meant it as ‘I love you’. Richie supposed he did too. Richie pushed a finger in and Eddie cursed. Richie had a feeling Eddie was not quite used to the feeling. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” He teased.

 

“What do you think, asshole?” Eddie ground out and Richie smirked, twisting his finger just right and finding that spot that he knew drove men crazy, if the reaction he got out of Eddie was any indication. Eddie arched off the bed and gripped the sheets, cursing loudly.

 

“What the hell was that?!” He nearly screamed.

 

“You mean to tell me you’ve been gay all this time and you don’t know what the prostate is?” Richie couldn’t help but tease him. It came as easy as breathing to him.

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Richie grinned and removed his finger, causing Eddie to whine beautifully until he saw Richie fiddle with his bedside drawer until he found what he was looking for: lube and a condom. He squirted a liberal amount of lube on his fingers and inserted his pointer finger along with his middle finger, slowly but surely, curling it along with the first one, making Eddie see the galaxies.

 

“Do—do that again,” Eddie panted and Richie obliged, curling them just the right way to see Eddie’s cock jerk beautifully against his stomach.

 

Richie added one more finger, opening him up in the most amazing way, until Eddie was begging for his cock. “Please, Richie, please,” He was saying, nay,  _ begging _ .

 

“Please what?” Richie teased. He wanted to hear Eddie say it.

 

“Oh fuck you!” Eddie cursed but he obliged, saying, “Please fuck me.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

Richie removed his fingers and rolled the condom on his cock, slicking it up generously with lube. He grasped Eddie’s hips in a grip tight enough to bruise and looked deep into those chocolate doe eyes. “You sure?” He had to ask, at least one last time.

 

“As sure as the sun rises in the East,” breathed Eddie. “Just—fuck me!”

 

“As you wish, my love,” and if that didn’t set both of their hearts going at light speed. Richie guided his cock to Eddie’s stretched out hole and slowly guided himself in, taking his time, stopping whenever Eddie made any sign of discomfort until Eddie pressed the heel of his foot in the dip of Richie’s back and pushed him further in until he bottomed out, both of them groaning low.

 

“God, you’re so tight,” Richie cursed, the tight heat of Eddie pressed all over him in the most mind blowing way. 

 

“Do I feel good?” Eddie looked shy for whatever reason and Richie kissed the look off his face.

 

“You feel  _ perfect _ ,” he promised. “Amazing.” He took one of his hands and grabbed one of Eddie’s, lacing their fingers, making Eddie blush a beautiful pink. “God, I love you.” 

 

“Oh, yeah? Fuck me, then.  _ Move _ ,” Eddie said and Richie did as he commanded, pulling out completely before sliding back in, startling out a moan from Eddie. Richie grinned and kissed him before doing it again, and again before he was picking up a slight rhythm.

 

He rocked slowly into Eddie, taking his time. He wanted Eddie to feel good, to feel whatever he was feeling, which was all consuming love and adoration. He pressed kisses along the expanse of Eddie’s neck while he rocked into him, Eddie grasping for purchase on his back and into his hair, getting a groan out of Richie.

 

“ _ Faster _ ,” whispered Eddie into Richie’s ear. Richie picked up the pace and began pistoning his hips faster and faster until they were building up a nice rhythm, the bed shaking. He must have been hitting Eddie’s prostate for the noises he was making, moaning so nicely for him.

 

“You like that, baby?” Richie whispered raspily. “You like me fucking you?”

 

“Yes,” Eddie groaned. “Yes! Harder!”

 

Richie went even faster, fucking into him deep and full, all the while sharing sloppy kisses with Eddie and both of them holding onto to each other for dear life, afraid if they let go, the other would float away as if they were in some beautiful, horrible dream.

 

“I love you,” Eddie breathed into Richie’s ear. “I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too, Eds. More than I can say,” they rocked together, one piece of a puzzle fitting together perfectly, as if they were meant to be.

 

Maybe they were…

 

“Tell me,” Eddie breathed. “Tell me how much you love me.”

 

“I love you more than there are stars in the sky,” Richie ground out, hitting Eddie’s prostate with every thrust. “I love you more than all the music in the world—“

 

“That’s a lot,” Eddie laughed and was effectively shut up with a well timed thrust to his prostate.

 

“I love you so much I can’t imagine breathing without you. That’s how much I love you,” Richie could feel tears gather in his eyes and his glasses slid precariously down his nose, but he didn’t care. He was with the one he loved most in the world, and Eddie loved him back.

 

_ Eddie loved him back! _

 

“Oh God,” Eddie cried. “I’m gonna come!”

 

“Me too,” Richie felt that familiar coil in belly, magnified to an eleven that he was with the one he loved most, making love like there was no one else in the world. “Come for me, baby. Come for me.”

 

And Eddie did. He came with a cry, not a touch to his cock, spilling all over his chest and Richie followed suit, coming with a grunt and spilling into the condom. He jerked and fell on top of Eddie but he didn’t seem to mind, running a hand through his wayward curls and pressing a kiss to his temple.

 

“That was…” Eddie started.

 

“Amazeballs?” Richie finished and laughed at how Eddie rolled his eyes, but still fond.

 

“Sure,” Eddie said. “ _ Amazeballs _ .”

 

Richie grinned and then slowly pulled out, smirking at how Eddie whimpered at the loss until Richie kissed him on his forehead. He pulled off the condom and threw it into the trash before standing up and walking to his speaker system and booking up his phone to the stereo.

 

Eddie turned over on his stomach and watched him curiously. “What are you doing?” He asked.

 

Richie said nothing until he hit the right buttons and there it was,  _ their  _ song. Richie loved the way Eddie’s smile lit up. It lit up the whole of Richie’s world, his problems be damned. As long as he had Eddie, he would be okay.

 

He would be okay.

 

He danced back towards Eddie and held out a hand. “Will you dance with me, my love? For old times sake?”

 

Eddie mocked glared but took his hand. “I thought you said you didn’t remember.”

 

“I was an idiot, Eddie—scratch that, I  _ am  _ an idiot, but I’m an idiot who’s in love with you.” Eddie gave him his most blinding smile and Richie thought everything would be okay, if Eddie just smiled that smile.

 

“I love you too, you  _ idiot _ .”

 

And they both smiled like the giddy teenagers they were and danced to their song and all was alright in their world.

 

Everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy, happy, happy!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed that, I know I did ;)
> 
> But fear not, for angst will come back (but maybe not right away)
> 
> song - africa by toto
> 
> Let’s play a game of how many pop culture references I snuck into this story (hint: there’s a lot)


	13. give me love like never before, cause lately i've been craving more

Eddie was so happy, so, so,  _ so  _ happy at the moment. He and Richie were lazing in Richie’s bed, his stereo still quietly playing music in the background as Eddie was cuddled up against Richie’s naked chest. Richie was tracing invisible patterns on Eddie’s back and it felt wonderful.

 

It felt— _ magical _ .

 

They hadn’t said anything in awhile, just content to lay there and soak in each other’s company until Richie finally spoke up. “What are you thinking about, my love?”

 

Eddie smiled a giddy smile and buried his face into Richie’s chest, his heart fit to burst in his own chest. “Just how happy I am,” Eddie answered, his voice slightly muffled.

 

He felt Richie smile against his hair and say, “Me too. I never would have thought—“

 

“That’s because you are an idiot,” Eddie looked up at him and smiled wide.

 

Richie grinned back and pecked Eddie on the nose. “That I am. But I’m  _ your  _ idiot.”

 

“Yes,” said Eddie, taking Richie’s hand in his and lacing their fingers. “Mine.”

 

“And you are mine, my love. I’m never letting you go, now that we’ve—”

 

“Fucked?” Eddie smirked.

 

Richie laughed. “Yes, now that we’ve fucked. I love you, Eds.”

 

“And I love you too, Richie. With all my heart.”

 

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie and pulled him up so that their lips were barely touching before leaning in and sealing them in a heated kiss, licking inside his mouth to taste him. Eddie loved the taste of Richie, even though he hated cigarettes. It was so Richie, he didn’t care. As long as he got to keep kissing him, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whatsoever.

 

They were pulled apart by the chiming of Eddie’s phone, alerting him to a text message. Richie groaned as Eddie sat up and grabbed his phone. It was Bev, demanding to know where he was. He bit his lip and looked back at Richie, lounging amongst his pillows. “It’s Bev,” Eddie said. “She wants to know where I am.”

 

“So tell her,” said Richie easily.

 

Eddie blinked owlishly. “You—you’re okay with that? With them knowing?”

 

“I’m not going to keep it a secret if that’s what you’re asking,” said Richie. “I plan on bragging to my friends that I nabbed the hottest piece of ass in the continental United States.”

 

Eddie rolled his eyes and smacked at Richie’s legs as he grinned, but Eddie felt nothing but fond. He opened up his texts and text Bev back.

 

**Eddie:** i’m at Richie’s

 

**Bev:** whaaaaaaaat???? What brought this on?

 

**Eddie:** we uh kind of confessed to one another that we loved each other and then we, welllllll

 

**Bev:** YOU FUCKED?!

 

**Eddie:** ...yes

 

**Bev:** HALLELUJAH!! *throws confetti in the air* maybe this will remove the asshole stick out of Richie’s ass

 

**Eddie:** we’ll see ;)

 

“What’re you smiling about?” Richie teased, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle.

 

“Bev,” Eddie explained. “She said she’s happy for us and that she hopes this removes the asshole stick from your ass.”

 

Richie opened his mouth as if he was offended but the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “Tell her to don’t push her luck.”

 

“I kind of already did,” Eddie smirked.

 

Richie said nothing and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder, kissing a hickey he left there, causing Eddie to slightly shiver. After a moment, he spoke. “I think I’ll go,” he said quietly.

 

“Go?” Eddie questioned. “Go where?

 

“To the Thanksgiving dinner, with the rest of the Losers. I think—I think I’d like to go,” Richie wasn’t looking at him but looking down at the floor.

 

Eddie smiled so wide he thought his face might split in two. “Yeah?” He asked, his voice not masking his happiness and excitement at the prospect. “You will?”

 

“Yeah,” said Richie, looking up and staring into Eddie’s eyes with such an intensity he couldn’t help but blush. “I will.”

 

Eddie said nothing, just leaned forward and kissed Richie on the mouth, letting Richie deepen it and pull him back into the bed, roaming his hands over Eddie’s naked body.

 

“I want to have you again,” Richie whispered against Eddie’s lips. “Is that okay?”

 

“More than,” whispered Eddie. “Have me, I’m yours.”

 

——

 

Richie felt like he was on cloud nine, no cloud one THOUSAND. To actually get to  _ touch _ Eddie, his precious Eddie in such an intimate way was—was  _ mind-boggling.  _ Richie loved him so much, and Eddie loved him too. 

 

_ Eddie loved him too! _

 

It seemed as though the planets had finally aligned for one Richie Tozier and he was sure as hell going to make the most of it, even if in the end Eddie wound up leaving him. At the rate they were going, Richie was  _ never _ going to leave Eddie, it’d have to be the other way around. Richie didn’t want to think about that as he watched Eddie sleep that late afternoon, tuckered out after round two of—of love-making. That’s what it was, Richie decided.  _ Love-making. _

 

God, Eddie was so  _ gorgeous _ during sex, not that he wasn’t all the time but during sex he just really ignited. For someone who had never done it before (and most definitely not as frequently as Richie), Eddie sure was good at it. Richie still wanted to ask how Eddie was so good at a blowjob but he thought it better to ask in a different situation. For now, he was content to watch Eddie sleep, his head pillowed on Richie’s chest, and Richie running his hands through his curly locks.

 

Richie pressed a kiss into his hair and Eddie stirred, wrinkling his nose. “Wha timisit?” He muttered sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.

 

Richie looked at his alarm clock. “Ah, about four pm. Sorry, I woke you.”

 

“No, no,” said Eddie, smiling up at him and Richie’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. “I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.”

 

Richie shrugged. “It’s alright, Eds. I thought it was cute.” He pinched his cheek. “ _ Cute, cute, cute _ !”

 

Eddie rolled his eyes and smacked his hand away. “Okay, I love you, but not  _ that  _ much. Quit calling me that!”

 

Richie figured he’d have to get used to the way his heart beat in his chest every time Eddie muttered the words ‘I love you’ to him and said, “What? Cute? Or Eds?”

 

“ _ Both,  _ you dickwad,” Eddie lightly shoved at him but he was smiling, so Richie knew not to take him seriously.

 

“I think I distinctly recall you saying you loved it when I called you Eds, or was that just a dream?” Richie teased, nudging him with his elbow.

 

“It was just a dream, Richie,” Eddie rolled his eyes but he also blushed, showing Richie that he was not mistaken.

 

“Oh, come on,” said Richie, hooking his arm around Eddie’s neck and pulling him close. “You know you love me.”

 

“God help me,” said Eddie, grinning, “I do.”

 

Richie grinned at him and then felt his phone vibrate. “Hold up,” He said. “It might be my friends.”

 

“Okay,” said Eddie, kissing him on the side of his face.

 

**Bobby:** Hey dude, where were you 2day?

 

**Richie:** w/ Eddie

 

**Bobby:** little dude? What were u doin?

 

**Richie:** ...u kno

 

**Bobby:** fuckin??????

 

**Richie:** …

 

**Bobby:** holy shit dude! R u datin?

 

**Richie:** yes

 

Richie looked up at Eddie and said, “I told Bobby that we’re dating. Is that okay?”

 

Eddie gave him a blinding smile, lighting up Richie’s entire being. “Totally,” he breathed. “That is, if you want to.”

 

“Oh, I definitely want to!” said Richie, smiling. He fingered at the hickeys stark against Eddie’s neck. “ _ Hot _ ,” He said. 

 

Eddie half-heartedly pushed his hand away, grinning. “Stop it!”

 

“So,” said Richie, lacing his hand with Eddie’s. “ _ Boyfriend _ . Do you wanna go out on a date?”

 

Eddie blinked at him owlishly. “What, like now?”

He asked, blushing profusely.

 

_ Cute, cute, cute! _

 

“No, next year,” Richie playfully rolled his eyes. “Yes, like now. We could go see a movie playing at the Aladdin and then—I don’t know—have dinner somewhere?”

 

“You’d treat me to dinner and a movie?” asked Eddie, squeezing Richie’s hand.

 

“Oh, no. You’d definitely pay for yourself,” Richie joked, winking at him.

 

“Shut up,” Eddie muttered, shoving him with his free arm but he was grinning wide. “What movie would you want to see?”

 

“Whatever you want, baby.”

 

Eddie seemed to think about it for a moment. “Thor: Ragnarok?”

 

“I knew there was a reason I loved you.” They got up and got dressed before heading out the door, hand in hand. Richie felt so giddy, the electricity from their contact going up and down his arm in waves. They giggled as they swung their arms between them and then Richie spun Eddie, making him laugh in surprise as they walked towards the theater. 

 

God, Richie was so in love.

 

He bought two tickets to the movie and even treated Eddie to some snacks. He thought it was  _ so cute _ that Eddie wanted Raisinets. “You’re a little Raisinet!” Richie teased as he pushed him into the theater, both of them heading to the seats at the very top and to the very right, hidden from plain sight of the other people in the room.    
  


“That literally makes no sense,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes as he sat down, throwing a Raisinet at him.

 

“You’re tiny and sweet!” Richie tried to explain but Eddie just rolled his eyes again (fondly, Richie noted) and took a large gulp of his Diet Coke.

 

Richie tried, he really did. He was interested in the movie, had been planning on seeing it with his boys for weeks now, but with Eddie just  _ sitting _ there,  _ next to him _ , in a darkened theater, he couldn’t help it. At first, Richie played it cool (although he suspected that Eddie was onto to him the moment he made his first move), yawning and stretching his arm over Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie gave him a look but didn’t say anything. In fact, he snuggled closer and even rested his head on Richie’s shoulder. Phase One: complete. Then, after a few minutes, he began Phase Two, inching his hand towards Eddie’s covered nipple, first just resting it there and then slowly rubbing over it in circles, feeling as it hardened underneath his ministrations.

 

“Richie!” Eddie tried to chastise but he cut off into a little moan as Richie rubbed him  _ just the right way _ and even tweaked him a little bit.

 

“You know you love it,” Richie said, looking nonchalant as he sat there groping him.

 

“Argh, fuck you,” Eddie groaned (more like moaned).

 

“That’s the idea.”

 

“We fucked  _ twice _ today, Richie.”

 

Richie turned to him and grinned. “Why not go for a third?”

 

“Richie!” Eddie yelled and shoved at him lightly. Even in the darkened theater, Richie could tell he was blushing. Richie pretended to play along, removing his hand from his shoulder and resting it on the armrest between them, palm up. Eddie took that as an invitation to lace their fingers together and while that was nice,  _ real nice _ , that was not exactly what Richie had in mind. He allowed it for a few minutes then untangled it, acting as if he was reaching for his own drink. He made a show of slurping it, not taking his eyes off the movie even though his mind was not registering what was happening, just a lot of CGI and explosions. He sat his arm next to the armrest when he was finished and he saw Eddie shoot him a disappointed look but said nothing. 

 

_ Don’t worry, Eddie-bear _ Richie thought to himself.  _ I’m about to make you feel  _ _ real _ _ good. _

 

He inched his hand underneath the armrest, coming to tug on Eddie’s jeans. Eddie gave him a questioning look but let it slide, until Richie slid his hand over his thigh and resting it on top of Eddie’s crotch. “Richie! What are you doing?!” Eddie whisper-screeched, but Richie was delighted to notice that he didn’t push his hand away.

 

“Making you feel good, baby,” Richie whispered, slowly unzipping his jeans.

 

“Richie-- _ ah _ !” Eddie’s half-hearted protest died as Richie slipped his hand inside his jeans, beneath his briefs and grasping his already half-hard cock. 

 

“Ooh, this making you excited, baby? You like being bad?”

 

“Sh--shut up,” Eddie stuttered as Richie jacked his hand slowly up and down, bringing him to full mast beneath his clothes. Richie rubbed his thumb over the head, teasing the slit and loving the way Eddie nearly bit his bottom lip off trying to conceal his moans. One thing Richie was excited to learn about in the past eight hours was that Eddie was noisy in bed, the good kind of noisy. The kind of noisy that got Richie hard in his pants just thinking about it and boy, it was true what they said about horny teenage boys. 

 

Eddie noticed. Of course he noticed, and he smirked at him. “You like that,  _ baby _ ?” Eddie teased, rutting his hips in Richie’s hand and biting off another moan. 

 

“Eds, you drive me wild,” Richie choked as Eddie let him jack him off, faster now. 

 

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie breathed, his breathing picking up.

 

“Yeah. I fantasized about you before I even knew I had a thing for you, ever since like sixth grade.”

 

“ _ Sixth grade _ ? You--you liked me then?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I just didn’t know it. I just thought I was projecting my new-found bisexualness onto my best friend. And it didn’t help that you wore those fucking shorts-- _ still _ wear them!”

 

“You love them,” Eddie groaned, gripping the armrest tight.

 

“Oh, fuck yeah I do,” Richie whispered, his hand nearly going at light speed now as he used the pre-cum leaking from the tip to make the goings easier. “You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum for me?”

 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, grasping Richie’s arm in a vice-like grip. “Yeah, I’m gonna cum. Oh--oh fuck!” Richie grinned as he felt Eddie shoot off his load, coating his hand in his sticky cum. Eddie jerked in his seat a little bit, looking a little flushed even in the dark like. Oh, how Richie loved him.

 

Richie removed his hand and raised it to Eddie’s eye-level, making sure he was looking at him through half-lidded eyes as Richie licked his cum off his fingers. “Oh,  _ gross _ , Richie!” Eddie moaned, but he grinned all the same.

 

“You love me,” said Richie once his fingers were clean and he zipped Eddie back up, patting him and making Eddie jerk and shoot him a nasty look, causing Richie to laugh out loud until someone turned around and shushed him. Richie made a show of nodding and putting a finger to his lips in a really sarcastic way, biting his tongue when Eddie shoved at him so he wouldn’t laugh again.

 

The rest of the movie passed without further incidents, Richie content to just hold Eddie’s hand for the duration of the movie. Once it was over, he dragged Eddie across the street to a little pizzeria for the dinner part of their date, ordering a half cheese, half pineapple. “Pineapple? Really Richie?”

 

“Are you honestly surprised?” Richie asked around a mouthful of pizza. “Come on, you  _ know _ me.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Eddie smiled fondly. “And I guessed I’m not surprised, just--grossed out.”

 

“Awh, come on,” Richie grinned, holding a slice out to Eddie. “Try it, I promise it’s not gross.”

 

Eddie eyed the pizza as if it were about to grow a head but took it reluctantly. “If I get poisoned by this, I’m blaming you,” he said.

 

“I already ate two slices and I’m fine, so--”

 

“That’s because you have a stomach made out of iron,” said Eddie but he took a small, tentative bite out of the pizza. Richie smiled wide as Eddie’s face contorted in the most hilarious way possible, twisting up into a grimace as the pizza passed through his taste buds. “Oh! Oh, Richie this is  _ gross _ !” Eddie groaned, spitting it out into a napkin daintily.

 

Richie burst into laughter, high on love for this wonderful, wonderful boy, who hated pineapple on pizza. Who would have thought? “I love you, Eds.”

 

Eddie looked up at him, setting his napkin to the side and reaching across the table to grasp Richie’s hand in his. “I love you too, Richie. So much.”

 

They finished dinner, Eddie not even looking in the direction of the pineapple pizza and then they walked, hand in hand towards the park to finish their date. It was very dark out but the park was lit up well. Richie led Eddie towards the bench, once thought of as his and his boy’s bench, but now? Now it was  _ their _ bench, his and Eddie’s. Eddie must have picked up on his line of thinking for he smiled coyly at him as they approached it, swinging their linked hands again. They sat down and Richie pulled Eddie into his lap, making him screech in delight. Richie smacked a kiss to one of the (many) hickeys on Eddie’s neck, making him shudder. “I love you,” he whispered into his ear. He just couldn’t stop saying it. He was in love and he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to the world. 

 

He felt Eddie grin and play with their linked hands. “Oh, yeah? I don’t think you’ve said it enough today. Maybe one more time.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“Mmmm, once more.”

 

“I love you, Eds.”

 

“How much?”

 

Richie grinned and opened his arms wide, their hands still linked. “ _ This  _ much!” Eddie giggled and Richie knew that was it. He was gone, he had fallen hard. He was in love with little Eddie Kaspbrak and he was never letting go.

 

Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I feel like this isn't my best work but i've had a tough few days with some personal stuff but i still wanted to get this out, so here, happy, fluffy in love Reddie:)
> 
> song - give me love by ed sheeran


	14. doesn’t matter, cause it’s enough to be young and in love

Eddie didn’t know what to expect the morning at school. Richie had departed from him the night before after their date with a searing kiss to his lips and a “See you at school, Eds,” right on Eddie’s front porch like a stereotypical date and Eddie had melted inside. He was a little disappointed that Richie didn’t sneak into his room that night, but he figured that maybe Richie needed some alone time to figure out everything that had happened between them in the past twenty-four hours, Eddie knew he did.

He and Richie were boyfriends now, they had professed their love to one another and fucked—made love. It was glorious and everything Eddie had ever dreamed about, all the way down to the hand holding. God, Eddie had nearly swooned (maybe he did). Richie treated him with such care and love that Eddie thought he’d die from happiness. And then, Richie had taken him on a date! A date with more hand holding and handjobs and disgusting pineapple pizza. Eddie had loved every minute of it.

He prayed to God or whoever was listening, if anyone even was, that it would work out between them. That Richie wasn’t just being nice when he said that he told his friend that they were dating, that he wouldn’t go back to ignoring him once they were back in school or worse, but it seems that Eddie’s fears were unfounded.

After an awkward car ride to school with the Losers, with Bev giving him an overt thumbs up and nudging his shoulder suggestively, Eddie made his way to his locker when he saw someone tall, dark, and handsome leaning against it.

Richie.

Eddie watched as Richie’s face lit up as he approached, holding out his hand for Eddie to take. Eddie blushed and did just so, reveling in Richie pulling him in and placing a tender kiss on his lips. “Hey, Eds,” he whispered happily.

“Hey, Richie,” said Eddie, smiling like a fool.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Richie asked him and God, if Eddie didn’t already love him more than all the universe.

“I slept fine. It was a little lonely without you there…” Eddie looked at him from under his eyelashes suggestively and Richie sucked in a deep breath.

“I’ll come over tonight,” he said. “I promise. Oh! Before I forget…” Richie reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, typing in the passcode before handing it over to Eddie. “Put your number in. We can’t be proper boyfriends if I don’t even have your number.”

Eddie grinned and took his phone, typing in his number quickly and cheekily adding little heart emojis next to his name. He handed it back to Richie, who smiled wide at his antics before his fingers moved rapidly across the screen and Eddie heard his own phone ding. Eddie pulled it out and saw a simple message:

I love you, Eds.

Eddie smiled warmly and looked up at him, before pecking him lightly on the cheek and whispering in his ear, “I love you too, Richie. So much.”

“Hey, uh,” Richie began as Eddie opened his locker to pull out his History textbook and binder. “You wanna come sit with me and the guys for lunch?”

Eddie stopped what he was doing, shocked. “You—you mean with you and your friends?”

“Yeah,” Richie was biting his lip and looking at the ground.

Eddie so badly wanted to say yes, but he was scared. “I don’t know, Richie...what about my friends? I can’t just leave them…”

Richie looked up and smiled a smile so blinding that if Eddie was a different person, he would have thought Richie was okay with it, but he wasn’t and he read Richie’s pain behind his smile as clear as day. “Okay,” Richie said. “That’s cool. I’ll see you after school then, yeah?” He made to walk off but Eddie stopped him, grabbing his hand, ignoring the looks they were surely getting now from the other students filtering in to get their books for first period.

“Hey,” said Eddie. “Why don’t—why don’t you and your friends come sit with us? There’s plenty of room.” Eddie didn’t want Richie to think he was embarrassed of their relationship by any means and if this was the way to mend the relationship between Richie and the other Losers, then so be it.

“You mean it?” Richie asked, and he sounded so terribly vulnerable that Eddie wanted to hit something.

“Yeah. Yeah, come sit with us. I want to spend time with my boyfriend during school.”

Richie grinned, leering at him. “Well, there is always the janitor’s clos—“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie sounded nothing but fond.

Richie smiled wide, true this time and said, “Okay. Okay, yeah, sure, we’ll come sit with you guys. I want everyone to know who my hot new boyfriend is.”

Eddie looked down at their joined hands and smirked. “I think they already do,” he said.

“Well, then, let’s give them something really to gossip about,” and then Richie pulled him in for another kiss, hotter this time and with tongue, before pulling away grinning at him and leaving.

Eddie swooned and blushed to himself before closing his locker door and making his way to first period, keeping his books close to his face to hide his stupid grin. All during the classes before lunch, Eddie heard the barely concealed whispers about him and Richie. Some sounded true enough and others were just flat out lies.

“I heard he’s only with that scrawny kid because of a bet his friend made.”

“He doesn’t even like that kid, he’s just easy in the sack.”

“I heard them exchange disgusting ‘I love you’s’ before class. I didn’t even know they knew each other!”

Eddie tried to ignore the whispers as best he could. He knew the truth and that was all that mattered, but sometimes his anxiety just wouldn’t let him win. The whispers were becoming too much as he made his way to lunch—finally—his heart hammering in his chest. He was slightly afraid of what his friends might say, what they might think to have Richie and his friends sit there with them. Eddie found himself praying again to a God he didn’t even believe in that everything would work out okay and that they would all get along.

Eddie walked through the cafeteria doors, carrying his pastel pink lunchbox with cute flowers all over it and was immediately accosted by someone tall. They wrapped their arms around Eddie and pulled him up off his feet before placing him back down on the ground. Eddie jerked around, ready to tell that person off, when he looked up and saw that it was Richie, laughing and smiling down at him. “Hey, baby,” He said.

Eddie flushed and smacked him on the arm with his lunchbox. “Don’t scare me like that!” He mock-yelled at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “You’re just so cute, I couldn’t help it!”

Eddie screwed up his lips and tried to glare at him, but he felt that he probably wasn’t succeeding. Richie’s eyes sparkled beneath his glasses and he said, “Wanna brave the lunch line with me? Not all of us bring our lunches.”

Eddie spared a look around the lunchroom and saw that Stan and Bill were already sitting at their lunch table and looking directly at Eddie and Richie. Eddie looked away and grabbed Richie’s hand, saying, “Sure.”

They walked to the line, still filling up because Eddie always got to the lunchroom early and Eddie stood there with Richie while he piled food on food onto his lunch tray. He got the spaghetti and the roll, along with two fruit cups and three bags of chips, and mashed potatoes and gravy. “I don’t know how you can eat that,” Eddie said, staring at the food on Richie’s plate.

“It’s sooooo good, Eds. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie grinned as he pulled away from the lunch line with his food. He looked at Eddie and must have noticed the trepidation on his face as they faced the Losers table and balanced his tray on one hand and took Eddie’s in the other. “You ready?”

Eddie looked at him and felt Richie’s strength and bravery flow through his fingertips into Eddie and for once in his life, he felt truly courageous. If Richie was there, holding his hand, he thought he could always be brave. He smiled up at Richie and said, “Yes. With you? Always.”

* * *

Richie felt his heart pound loudly in his chest as he walked hand in hand towards the Losers table. Bev and Ben were sitting there now with Bill and Stan, only Mike was yet to show up and Richie felt as if he were about to vomit. He felt a little better when Eddie squeezed his hand as they approached the table, and Eddie sat his lunchbox down, motioning for Richie to put his tray down.

“Hey, guys,” said Eddie. “Richie’s going to sit here today, okay?” Richie loved that Eddie didn’t pose it as a question, not giving any of the Losers a say.

Bev actually smiled at them. “Okay, Eddie,” she said. “How are you, Richie?”

“Peachy keen, Bev-Bev,” the nickname just slipped out and for a moment Richie thought she’d be mad but she just smiled brighter at him.

“That’s good. I’m so happy for you two.”

“Yeah?” asked Richie. “Me too.” He looked over and smiled at Eddie, grasping his hand under the table.

“Hey, guys!” said Mike, bounding up to the table with his tray. When he noticed Richie with Eddie, he paused. “Uh, hey Richie.”

“Hey, Micycle. What’s up?”

Mike smiled hesitantly, but bright. “Not much, football practice after school today. You?”

Richie shrugged. “Not much. I have work after school.”

“Yeah, you work at the gas station, right?” Ben asked, chewing on an apple.

“That’s right. Pay is shit but it’s enough for my needs,” Richie paused, scoping out the cafeteria for his friends. They were always late. He saw them and started waving his free hand obnoxiously in the air, screaming, “DUDES! OVER HERE!”

Bobby, Tom, and Sammy grinned at him, having already heard the news from Richie earlier that day that they were going to sit with the Losers Club and made their way over to the table. “Hello, lady and germs,” Tom giggled, pulling Richie into a headlock and ruffling his hair before letting go and sitting down beside him, Bobby and Sammy next to him.

“Asshole! You ruined my perfect curls!” Richie pretended to be mad at him but they both burst into laughter after looking each other seriously in the eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, right!” laughed Sammy, taking a huge bite out of his pizza that he brought from home. “Your hair is a bird’s nest if I ever saw one!”

“I happen to like his hair, thank you very much!” Eddie said and then his face burned as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

Richie exchanged surprised looks with his friends and then burst into laughter again. Richie grabbed Eddie and pulled him close, kissing his forehead. Eddie squirmed but seemed happy they weren’t mad at him, quite the contrary in fact. “You hear that boys?” Richie asked. “My boyfriend has spoken!”

“So, it’s official then?” Stan suddenly asked.

Richie stopped messing with Eddie and looked at him. “Yeah, it’s official.”

Stan twisted his lips and then did something neither Richie nor Eddie really expected.

He smiled.

“Good,” Stan said. “I’m happy for you. You better not mess this up, Trashmouth.”

Richie raised his hands in mock surrender but Eddie lashed out, snapping, “Don’t call him that!”

“What?” Bill asked. “Tr—Trashmouth? W—we’ve always c—called him that.”

“Well, not anymore,” said Eddie. “Drop it.”

Richie couldn’t quit staring at him, so lost and in love that finally Bobby snapped him out of it. “Dude. Hey, dude!”

“Huh! What?”

“You going to Michelle’s party this weekend?”

“Michelle’s throwing a party?”

“Yeah, we talked about it the other day.”

“Sorry,” Richie grinned, leaning over to tickle Eddie. “I’ve just been distracted.”

Sammy raised an amused eyebrow. “We’ve noticed.”

Bobby continued on. “It’s going to be wild—“

“Michelle’s parties usually are,” said Richie.

“Come on, say you’ll come! We’ve barely had any fun with you lately!” Richie looked at his friends and the pleading eyes they made and sighed.

“Alright,” He said. “I’ll go. As long as this one—“ he grabbed Eddie, making him shriek in delight. “—can come with me.”

“That’s fine, dude,” said Bobby. “In fact, all of you guys can come.”

The other Losers engaged Bobby in a discussion about the party while Eddie pulled Richie aside and whispered in his ear. “Are you sure you want me at the party?” He asked.

“What? Of course I do,” said Richie. “I told you: I gotta show off my boyfriend.”

Eddie blushed and looked down at his hands, fiddling with some applesauce. “Just—promise you won’t let me get drunk.”

“Too drunk,” Richie amended, grinning. “A little drunk’s okay.”

Eddie elbowed him teasingly and Richie untangled their hands so he could throw his arm around Eddie and pull him close, kissing his forehead again, making Eddie burn with happiness. They finished their lunch with the others happily and Richie spared a thought that they should do this more often, that maybe he and his friends and the Losers could coexist for the sake of him and Eddie. It’s what would make him the most happy.

Maybe—just maybe—he deserved some happiness of his own. Eddie was showing him that, slowly but surely.

* * *

Eddie finished his homework that night with a newfound zeal, excited to have Richie over and in his bed, even if they wound up just kissing. It was amazing how one night could make Eddie miss him so much, even though he saw him at school and at lunch.

Lunch.

It was incredible how well lunch had gone with the Losers and Richie’s friends. Eddie never realized how nice they were and how much they cared for Richie, almost as much as Eddie cared for him—which was a lot. The big one, Bobby, was intimidating looking but was actually a big teddy bear. Sammy was a stoner, sure, but he cared so much. And Tom was like a slightly less Richie clone.

Eddie came to find during that lunch hour that he liked all of them, and maybe they liked him, if the sky looks they gave him were any indication. It was ten o’clock now, and Eddie was about to just give up and go to bed. He’d been texting Richie back and forth, when he had breaks in work, but that was four hours ago. He was a little worried.

He had just changed into his pajamas when he heard a clanging on his bedroom window and rushed to it to see Richie on the ledge, smiling like a fool. “Richie!” He whisper-screamed. “What the hell?”

“I thought we agreed I’d come over tonight,” Richie said, sounding a bit off, but not too much so Eddie let it slide and let him in.

“Yeah, but…” Eddie didn’t know what to say, watching Richie right himself in his room and smile brightly at him. He sniffed the air. “Are you—are you high?!”

“Only on weed, my love,” Eddie couldn’t help but blush at that and he took Richie’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Oh, if it’s only weed then,” Eddie teased, but Richie pulled him in for a kiss, silencing any further protests he had—he didn’t.

“Is your Mom asleep?” Richie whispered against his lips.

“Yeah, passed out about an hour ago, watching reruns of some show,” Eddie said. “Why?”

“Because I want to fuck you into the mattress,” said Richie matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

Eddie felt himself blush. “More than.” He leaned in and kissed Richie again, sliding his tongue across his lower lip until Richie opened up, letting Eddie slide his tongue across his. Richie pushed him backwards, until the backs of Eddie’s knees hit his bed and he fell back, Richie on top of him, kissing his mouth with a fervor.

“Gotta get you naked,” Richie whispered, pulling at Eddie’s sweatshirt, yanking it over his head and revealing Eddie’s soft tan skin. “So beautiful,” Richie murmured before leaning down and capturing one of Eddie’s rosy nipples in his mouth, causing Eddie to cry out with pleasure. Richie laved over the nipple with his tongue, taking his hand and rubbing his thumb over the other one. Eddie squirmed, feeling overcome.

Richie reached his other hand down over Eddie’s short clad thighs, hooking one of them over his hip and caressing his ass through the material. “Have I told you how much I love your ass?” Richie grinned, squeezing one of the cheeks.

Eddie blushed. “Not today,” he teased and Richie left his nipples for a moment to kiss him again, languidly stroking his tongue with Richie’s own before pulling back and kissing down his neck, making the hickeys stark again. Eddie was surprised no one said anything about them that day at school, but he figured no one wanted to broach the subject with him.

Richie sat up and removed his shirt, Eddie reaching up and rubbing the pads of his thumbs over Richie’s nipples, delighting in the way he shuddered. “I want to suck your dick,” said Richie. “Can I?”

Eddie laughed, feeling giddy. “Is that even a question?”

Richie grinned and pulled down Eddie’s shorts and bright pink briefs, exposing his hard cock. “God, everything about you is gorgeous,” said Richie, settling between his legs and mouthing at his inner thighs. Eddie shuddered with pleasure and blushed all the way down to his chest.

Richie kissed and nipped at his thighs, sucking hickeys in the soft flesh, causing Eddie to writhe and moan. “Just—get on with it already!” Eddie nearly screamed, ready for Richie to get his mouth on him.

Richie grinned up at him and kissed up to the base of his cock, grasping the base before licking a stripe from root to tip, causing Eddie to cry out but quickly muffle his moans with a fist to his mouth, biting down hard enough to draw blood as Richie took him fully in his mouth and bobbed his head up and down, deep throating him. Eddie cursed into his fist and lifted his hips. He could feel his cock hit the back of Richie’s throat but he didn’t gag, in fact he moaned around his cock, sending vibrations up Eddie’s body.

“F—fuck,” Eddie stuttered, winding his hands in Richie’s curls and pulling on the strands.

Richie moaned again and slurped even more enthusiastically, if that was possible. “You—you like me pulling on your hair?” Eddie asked, feeling excited when Richie nodded happily. He tugged again and delighted in the way Richie just completely fell apart, melting into the mattress as he sucked.

“Fuck,” Eddie moaned, feeling a tightening in his belly. “Fuck! Stop! Stop!” He tugged on Richie’s hair hard enough to pull him off. At Richie’s questioning look, he burned and said, “I don’t wanna come yet. I want to come with you inside me.”

Richie grinned and sat up, fumbling with his jeans until he finally slipped them off after taking out a condom and a lube packet. Eddie raised an eyebrow at that. “Expecting to get lucky tonight?” He teased.

Richie shrugged. “Just hopeful. I’m in love with this wonderful, amazing boy.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about him,” Richie motioned for Eddie to turn over so he did, exposing his ass to him. He melted as Richie ran a callused hand over his cheek, warming up the skin. He heard the lube packet rip open and braced himself for the cold feeling against his entrance.

“He’s—he’s something else, Eds,” Richie said, snaking a finger up to Eddie’s entrance, teasing before lightly pushing inside.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathed.

“Yeah,” Richie sounded so dopily in love, Eddie would have felt jealous if he didn’t know Richie was talking about him. “He’s so strong, Eds. So strong. So loyal and caring, it makes my chest ache. He used to be the cutest little hypochondriac and I would have done anything for him—would do anything for him. I love him so much. He’s my world, has been for a long time, I’ve just been too blind to see it. His fire matches my fire in the most amazing way possible and I—“ he broke off, working a second finger inside of Eddie.

“You what?” Eddie asked breathily.

“I—I wanna spend the rest of my life with him,” Richie said this with so much conviction that Eddie almost burst into tears, because that’s what he wanted to. He wanted it so bad.

“Well, I have it on good authority—ah—that he wants that too,” Eddie gripped his sheets tightly as Richie worked a final finger inside of him.

“He does?”

“Oh, yeah. More than life itself.”

The fingers were removed suddenly and Eddie heard the telltale sign of the condom being ripped open and the lube being distributed before he felt Richie’s large cock against his entrance. Richie lightly laid on top of him, pulling Eddie’s hips to meet his and whispered into his ear, “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie felt like crying he was so happy. “I love you too.”

Richie braced his hands on Eddie’s hips before slowing pushing in, going past the rim and slowly bottoming out. They both let out a low groan at the feeling and Richie breathed, “God, you are perfect. So tight for me, so beautiful.”

Eddie moaned. “Move,” he breathed out. Richie pulled back out before slamming back in. He did this a few times before building up a rhythm, pounding him into the mattress. Eddie grasped the bed for purchase but suddenly Richie sat up and pulled Eddie along with him, Eddie sitting in his lap, hopping up and down on his cock. Richie grabbed his face and pulled it back so they could sloppily kiss each other. Eddie wound his hand into Richie’s curls and pulled, loving the way Richis hips stuttered in their assault on Eddie’s prostate for a moment before resuming with more force, grasping his hips with a bruising force.

Eddie loved every second of it.

“Turn—turn around,” Richie whispered. “Wanna see your face.” Eddie did as he said, gently letting Richie’s cock slide out before turning over and laying on his back, spreading his legs wantonly.

“God, you are such a good boy,” Richie groaned before pushing in again and watching as Eddie’s face twisted up in pleasure.

He grasped Eddie’s hand in his and laced their fingers together, Eddie felt like he was about to burst with happiness and love. Richie pressed kisses to his neck and collarbone as he pumped into him, attacking Eddie’s prostate with every thrust. Eddie gripped his other hand on Richie’s back, digging the blunt nails into the flesh there and leaving marks on top of the ones he left the day before.

“I love you, I love you,” Eddie could hear tears in Richie’s voice and fought his own, just holding Richie close to him as he brought them closer and closer to the edge.

Eddie felt his stomach begin to burn. “I’m—I’m close!”

“Me too,” Richie gasped, his hips going at an impossible pace. “Me too. Come for me, baby. Come for me.” He reaches a hand between them and jacked Eddie off in time with his thrusts and before he knew it, he was shooting off, splattering their chests with come.

Richie groaned and his hips stuttered as he came too, settling down on top of Eddie. Eddie figured he didn’t care about the come on his chest as he laid down, breathing heavily. Eddie wound his hand back into Richie’s curls, lightly tugging and curling them, delighting in the way Richie lightly moaned with pleasure.

“Never leave me,” Richie said as he kissed the side of Eddie’s face, leaving an imprint on Eddie’s soul for all eternity.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it’s been a week since I posted last and I just wanted to say I’m sorry for that but some personal/mental health issues came up and it was VERY difficult to write at the time :/
> 
> But I’m okay :) (also a little tipsy posting this, oops)
> 
> Hope y’all enjoy another fluff/smut chapter ;)
> 
> song - love by lana del rey


	15. i can feel the beat of the night in my chest

“What about this one?” Eddie held up the fifth shirt of the night, a pastel blue button down shirt. Bev was sitting on his bed, typing on her phone. She was already all dressed up for the party, in one of her many homemade dresses with cute brown ankle boots and fuzzy grey socks.

 

She looked up from her phone and sighed, “Come on, Eddie. You’re worse than a girl. Just pick a damn shirt!”

 

“I just wanna look good, Bev! Is that so bad? I don’t wanna embarrass Richie in front of everyone,” Eddie looked down at his scrupulously clean white Converse covering his feet.

 

Bev expression softened and she laughed a little, giggling. “I think  _ Richie  _ would be the one embarrassing you tonight. He loves you, Eddie. He wouldn’t be embarrassed of you. If you showed up tonight in a potato sack, he’d be making heart eyes at you and showing you off to everyone at the party, I swear.”

 

Eddie looked up, blushing. “You think so?”

 

“I  _ know  _ so. Now, put on the pink shirt and some cologne, because he’s going to pick you up in five.”

 

Eddie looked down at the alarm clock on his bedside table and cursed. It read 7:55. He quickly threw on the pastel pink button down he’d discarded earlier and spritzed some cologne, making himself smell good. His Mom was out for the night, thank God, although she wouldn’t have been able to stop him from going to the party anyways. He’d have snuck out if he had to or just straight up walked out if she sad no, consequences be damned. She didn’t really have a hold over him anymore and she knew it. 

 

Exactly five minutes later, Eddie heard the sound of a truck pull up outside his house and he ran to the window to see Richie hop out, clad in tight black jeans, combat boots, and a loose-fitting black shirt that buttoned up. It was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing the lean muscles there. Eddie nearly salivated at the sight. Richie had a cigarette in his lips and his eyes seemed to automatically track up to Eddie’s bedroom window, seeing him there and waving like a madman. Eddie couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him before he disappeared from the window, both he and Bev heading downstairs and out the front door.

 

He nearly banged the door open and saw Richie there in all his glory, the cigarette still dangling from his lips as he smiled at Eddie, that smile Eddie had quickly come to know was only reserved for him. Richie removed the cigarette and blew the smoke off to the side, holding out his hand. “Hey, Eds. You look fucking amazing. You ready to party?”

 

Eddie ignored the look Bev shot his way that oozed  _ I told you so _ and took Richie’s outstretched hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said and let Richie pull him towards the truck, piling in the backseat with Tom, Richie, and Bev. It was a snug fit but it worked.

 

“Hey, little dude!” said Sammy from the front seat. “Bev-Bev!”

 

“Hey, Sammy,” said Bev politely and Eddie nodded at him, curling under Richie’s arm that he threw around his shoulders.

 

“I missed you,” murmured Richie in Eddie’s ear and Eddie felt himself blush.

 

“You just saw me at school five hours ago,” Eddie tried to grumble but he sounded fond even to his own ears.

 

Richie just chuckled and pressed a kiss to his head before brushing a knuckle down his face, as if memorizing it. “You just wanna stay by my side tonight, Eds?” He asked after a moment.

 

Eddie looked up at him. He had pretty much resigned himself to the fact that Richie would go around and mingle with the denizens of the party, leaving Eddie with the other Losers, hopefully with a cup of  _ something  _ in his hand, so it surprised him to hear that. But made him happy nonetheless. He smiled, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

Richie smiled brightly. “Cool,” He said, sounding pleased. “We can dance again, Eddie Spaghetti.”

 

“I’ll dance with you,” said Eddie, grinning. “As long as you don’t call me that.”

 

“Anything for my Eds.” The truck stopped and Eddie looked up, noticing they were already at the party. It was completely pitch black outside, but you could see the party happening inside, with strobe lights pulsating and music pouring out the revolving door of partiers. Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand. “You ready?” He asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

They hopped out the truck with the others and saw as Bill’s truck pulled up behind them. Bev ran to the truck, eager to catch her boyfriend who jumped out almost immediately and kissed her, spinning her around. “Those two are almost as bad as us,” Richie mock whispered to Eddie as they watched Ben and Bev exchanged sweet kisses.

 

“Almost,” Eddie snarked, smirking up at him and Richie leaned down to kiss him on the lips after stomping out the remains of his cigarette. Eddie felt his heart bubble up inside, so full of love for this boy beside him.

 

After they kissed, Richie walked over to the Losers as they made their way out of the truck and waved at them with his free hand. “Big Bill! Stan the Man! Micycle! Haystack! What the fuck is up, dudes?”

 

Eddie was so pleased to see his friends smile at Richie, knowing that they were happy to see him interact with them again, and in such a nostalgic manner too. “R—ready to party, Tr—tr— _ Richie _ ,” said Bill, righting himself before he said Trashmouth after receiving a pointed glare from Eddie.

 

“Alright, my dude!” exclaimed Richie, holding his hand out for a high five. Bill accepted it happily. “LET’S GO FUCKING PARTY!” Richie screamed, howling at the moon and his friends whooped and cheered as they made their way into the house, the music thumping.

 

Eddie vaguely recognized the song from Fall Out Boy, but the way Richie cheered made him think it was a favorite of his. Immediately upon entering, they were accosted with a slightly drunk Michelle, and Eddie felt himself shrivel up with jealousy. “Richie! Guys, you made it!” She screamed over the music, nursing  _ something  _ in her hand and Eddie thought he could see some remnants of something white on her nose, but it may have been the light.

 

“I see you’ve been celebrating!” Laughed Richie, indicating to the drink in her hand and touching the side of his nose conspiratorially.

 

“Well, of fucking course,” said Michelle. “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

 

“Uh, no thanks ‘Chelle,” said Richie, slinging his arm around Eddie again. “I’m spending the night with my boyfriend.”

 

Michelle looked at Eddie for the first time since seeing them and her expression softened. “Of course,” she said. She turned around and motioned in the general direction of where Eddie assumed the kitchen was, “Drinks are in there. The fun stuff is assorted around the house. I think Jimmy brought Twister!”

 

“Twister?” Sammy busted in. “Fuck yeah!” He ran off, screaming, “JIMMY! WHERE THE FUCK YOU AT WITH TWISTER! DON’T LET ME DOWN MAN!”

 

The mismatched group of Losers and junkies all exchanged a look of amusement before bursting into laughter. Bev grabbed Ben’s hand and pulled him towards the kitchen. “Come on, Benny boy. Mama needs a drink!”

 

“Same!” said Richie, pulling Eddie behind them. They pushed their way through the throngs of people talking and dancing, making their way towards the crowded kitchen. There was a wide assortment of liquor on the counter and Richie immediately went for the vodka, pouring it straight in a red solo cup. “Whatcha want Eds?”

 

Eddie surveyed the liquor: the Maine specific beers, the vodka, the whiskey, and all the things in between and said, “A shot of Fireball, and a vodka and coke, please.”

 

“A shot of Fireball and a vodka and coke,” said Richie, pouring out a shot and handing it to Eddie before making the vodka and coke. “Coming right up,” he sounded impressed.

 

Eddie took the shot of Fireball and clinked his glass with Richie’s solo cup before downing the hatch, letting the whiskey burn his throat. He then took the vodka and coke and took a good swig from it before Richie put his hand over the top and said, “Woah, woah, slow down there cowboy. I want you mildly coherent for at least a dance or two.”

 

Eddie gently brought the cup away from Richie and took another, more milder sip, before a familiar song came over the speakers and he grabbed Richie’s hand. “Well, come on then,” he said. “Let’s dance.”

 

Richie grinned at him and downed the rest of his vodka, hissing loudly from the burn before letting Eddie lead him out onto the dance floor, where ‘Africa’ was playing. “This our fucking song, Eds,” he said, letting Eddie loop his arms around his neck and pull him close. Eddie nuzzled his head against Richie’s downturned face, delighting in the feel of skin on skin. Wherever Eddie’s skin touched Richie’s, it felt like lighting followed in its path.

 

Richie placed his hands on Eddie’s hips and rocked them slowly against the beat, both of them ignoring everybody around them. As far as Eddie was concerned, in that moment, it was just him and Richie—and that’s all that mattered.

 

“It’s gonna take me a lot to take me away from you,” Richie sang softly to Eddie as he leaned down and crooned into his ear. Eddie had never heard Richie sing seriously before and was pleasantly surprised at how  _ good  _ he sounded.

 

“You’re amazing,” said Eddie, his tongue already slightly loose from the alcohol he’d consumed on an empty stomach.

 

Richie smirked, pulling him closer as the song changed. “You think so?” He asked.

 

“I  _ know _ so,” breathed Eddie, standing up on his tiptoes to kiss him, ignoring the ‘oohs’ around them and just letting himself get lost in the moment. He was in Richie’s arms, dancing, kissing him, and loving every second of it.

 

He loved  _ him. _

 

He loved Richie.

 

“I love you,” said Eddie as they pulled apart and he felt as if the sun itself had come out in the dark of the night at the way Richie just brightened up the whole room with his smile.

 

“I love you too,” said Richie, clutching his hips tight. “So much so I feel as if I’m about to burst just thinking about it.”

 

“How about you don’t do  _ that _ ,” teased Eddie. “And just kiss me again?”

 

Richie grinned, pulling Eddie’s hips flush against his. “I can do that,” he leaned down to press his mouth against Eddie’s once more when someone knocked into them, jangling them apart. “Hey! Watch where you’re going, man!”

 

The guy, obviously already very drunk, just shook his head and turned away from them. “Whatever,” the guy muttered, barely being heard over the loud music. “Couple of  _ fags _ …”

 

Eddie saw that Richie tense up and was about to do something, probably hit the guy, so he grabbed his arm, tugging him away before he could do any damage and said, “Just leave him, Richie. Let’s get more drinks, yeah?”

 

Richie ran a hand over his face, sighing. “Yeah, a drink does sound pretty good right about now.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

——

 

Richie wanted to pound that douchebag’s skull in. He wanted him to pay for calling him and Eddie  _ fags _ , but he was grateful to Eddie for pulling him away and taking him back to the kitchen. He quickly poured himself a large cup of straight vodka and made quick work of chugging it down, enjoying the burn it gave his throat. He watched through buzzing eyes as Eddie surveyed the alcohol once more before pulling out some Sugar Island Coconut Rum, pouring a good amount into his cup. He smiled as Eddie took a tentative sip, before lighting up and taking a much larger gulp.

 

“Good, baby?” Richie asked, already feeling light in the head from the vodka. He hadn’t eaten anything today so he was a real lightweight at the moment.

 

“It’s delicious!” giggled Eddie, taking another large gulp. “I never realized how much I love coconut!”

 

“Yeah? Well, then, take the bottle,” Richie picked it up and handed it to him but Eddie balked.

 

“Oh, no,” said Eddie, but he didn’t put it down. “What if anyone else wants some? I don’t want to hog the liquor.”

 

Richie laughed and gestured to the wide array of alcohol on the kitchen counter. “You’re not hogging anything, my love. And besides—“ he reached behind a particularly large bottle of whiskey and pulled out another Sugar Island Coconut Rum. “—she bought more than one.”

 

Eddie twisted his mouth in thought. “Well, if you’re sure…”

 

“I’m sure, baby,” said Richie, resting his arm around his shoulder again. “Drink up.”

 

Eddie looked up at him and smiled and Richie felt his heart skip a beat. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to that. Eddie finished off what was left in his cup before taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap, taking a nice swig. “Attaboy,” Richie praised and delighted at how Eddie’s face burned bright pink.

 

He was broken out of his reverie when Sammy came into the kitchen. “There you are, you fucker!” Sammy said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

 

“Oh, yeah? What’s up, buttercup?”

 

“Jimmy brought this kickass bong and I wanna try it! You up for it?”

 

Richie gave a look to Eddie, who shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” He followed Sammy with Eddie under his arm through the dancing people and out onto the back patio where Jimmy and some other stoners sat in a circle, smoking a huge ass bowl of green with some kief sprinkled on top. “Yo, Jim—may! Can I smoke some?”

 

“Course, Richie Rich,” said Jimmy, his eyes already bloodshot. He handed over the bong once Richie sat down and pulled Eddie with him, watching amused as he took another long pull off the coconut rum.

 

“You’ve ever smoked before, Eds?” asked Richie as he fished in his jean pocket for a lighter.

 

“Huh? Oh, no…” said Eddie but he was watching Richie with mild interest as he sparked up, allowing the weed smoke to go deep into his lungs before exhaling. “How—how did you  _ do  _ that?” Eddie sounded amazed, swaying a bit in his seat.

 

“You wanna try?” Richie held out the bong to him but Eddie blushed.

 

He said, “I don’t know, Richie...I know I don’t have asthma, but…”

 

“How about this,” Richie said. “When I take a hit off the bong, you bring your mouth close to mine and when I exhale, you inhale, okay?”

 

Eddie seemed to think about it for a moment. “Okay,” he finally said and Richie grinned, setting up the next hit.

 

He sparked up the bowl and let the smoke fill up the bong before pulling it up and letting the smoke filter into his lungs. Eddie brought himself close and Richie grabbed his face with both hands before exhaling the smoke and watching through lidded, aroused eyes as Eddie inhaled. Richie was so proud of him, he didn’t even cough once.

 

Riche passed the bong to the next person, feeling buzzed in many different ways and pulled Eddie close. “That good for ya, Eddie Spaghetti?” He asked, chuckling at the dazed look on Eddie’s face.

 

“Yeah,” He said slowly, taking another swig off the coconut rum. “That was good.”

 

Richie held out his hand for the coconut rum. “Can I?” He asked.

 

“Of course, ‘Chee,” Eddie practically purred and that made Richie raise his eyebrows. He didn’t think Eddie had ever called him that, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. Richie took the proffered coconut rum and took a swig, allowing the sugary taste go down his throat. Eddie was right, it was good. Richie took another long swig before Eddie was yanking it back, saying, “Don’t get greedy, Richie.”

 

Richie laughed, feeling light and warm and fuzzy and all things that made the world good and kind in his belly. He really was in love, damn him. If he had told himself a month ago that  _ this _ , right now, with Eddie, dating him and drinking with him, would happen, he would have laughed in their face before going off to sulk because that was something that only happened in his deepest, darkest dreams. But it was happening now, and it was real.

 

_ It was real. _

 

He wanted to kiss him again, so he did, pulling him close and sealing their mouths together, lips buzzing from the electricity they conducted being in each other’s presence. When they pulled away, Richie noticed the pink blush on Eddie’s cheeks and couldn’t resist pinching them, giggling, “ _ Cute, cute, cute _ !”

 

“Ugh! Moment over, Tozier!” said Eddie, half heartedly pushing him away, but Richie knew he was only joking.

 

The bong was passed around to them again, with a word from Jimmy saying, “You guys, are like,  _ too cute _ .” The others stoners spoke up in agreement and Richie felt his own self flush at the acceptance of him and Eddie. It was great that their friends approved of them, but to have people outside of their social circle? Meant the world to Richie, and one look to Eddie said that he thought the same thing.

 

“You want to do it again, Eds?” Richie asked, taking the bong. Eddie nodded enthusiastically and took another swig of the rum before sidling in close to Richie and watching as he took a hit before leaning in close and breathing in the smoke from Richie’s mouth, gasping a little when Richie filled the gap completely and stuck his tongue in his mouth, kissing him deeper than they had all night. He felt Eddie smile into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Richie, the bottle of rum smacking Richie in the back, but he didn’t mind. Their mouths melded together as one, Eddie tasting so sweet: mint mixed the coconut rum with just a hint of weed.

 

“Uh, dudes? As much as this is the cutest/hottest thing I’ve ever seen, can we have the bong back?” Sammy broke through their kiss and they reluctantly pulled away after Richie gave Sammy the finger before handing him the bong.

 

The music changed from inside the house changed from Childish Gambino to something by Paramore and Richie saw as Eddie’s face lit up with excitement. “I  _ love  _ this song!” He was slurring now, half the rum bottle empty and he grabbed Richie’s hand, standing up on unsteady feet. “Come dance with me ‘Chee!”

 

Richie laughed, warm and bright, and allowed himself to be pulled up from the ground and back into the house. He was mesmerized by Eddie’s swaying hips as they got back onto the dance floor. They were met with Bev, twirling around with Ben and Mike doing some killer moves with that girl Richie recognized from the Halloween dance. “Richie, Eddie! Heeeyyy!” slurred Bev, a cup of peach vodka in her hand.

 

“Heyyyyy, Bev! I love this song! Don’t you love this song?” Eddie slurred, dancing around and laughing. Richie took his hand and started shaking with him, just happy to see his boy so happy. Bev laughed and let go of Ben’s hand, although he didn’t he seemed chuffed about it, and grabbed Richie’s hand, shaking with the both of them.

 

In Richie’s high and bordering on very drunk mind, he felt like this was the perfect time to say to Bev, “I’m sorry, for everything I said to you.” He whispered this in her ear so Eddie wouldn’t hear but she did and she looked up and smiled at him.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, sounding serious. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re still my best friend, you got that?”

 

Richie almost felt like crying. Bev was always too good to him, even when he didn’t deserve it— _ especially  _ when he didn’t deserve it. “Yeah,” He said instead. “You’re my best friend too.”

 

“Heyyyy!” said Eddie, sounding affronted. “What about me?” He must have caught the end of their conversation.

 

Richie and Bev looked at each other and laughed. “Don’t worry, babe,” said Richie. “You’re my special kind of best friend: my boyfriend.”

 

Eddie smiled so bright that Richie thought that the sun had come out in this darkened room. He couldn’t help but blurt out, “God, I love you.”

 

Eddie smiled even brighter and said, “I love you too.”

 

“Hey dude,” Richie felt a hand on his neck and whisper in his ear. It was Tom. “Michelle got some good ole meth. She’s smoking it up in her room. Wanna come?”

 

Richie looked at Eddie, who hadn’t heard a thing Tom said and was busy dancing to the music. “Nah, man. Not tonight. I got my boy to look after,” whispered Richie. “Tell her to save some for me tomorrow, okay?”

 

“Will do, Richie Rich,” said Tom and he watched as Richie watched Eddie. “Wow, you really love him, don’t you?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

 

——

 

Eddie was feeling drunk. 

 

Very, very drunk.

 

And a little bit stoned, but that was a new sensation.

He was having the time of his life dancing and laughing with Richie and Bev, feeling so free as he took more and more swigs from the bottle of coconut rum until he felt himself get a bit weird, definitely looser.

 

He latched onto Richie as another song began to play, something he didn’t recognize but that got everyone on the dance floor going crazy. Richie took the bottle from him and took a long swig, closing his eyes. God, he was so hot.

 

“You think so?” Richie laughed and Eddie belatedly realized that he had said that out loud, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about it.

 

“Yeah,” he heard himself slur. “So hot.”

 

“You’re pretty hot too, Eds,” said Richie, running a gentle hand through Eddie’s gentle curls.

 

“No, I’m not,” said Eddie.

 

“What makes you say that?” Richie frowned.

 

“I’m just not hot,” Eddie couldn’t stop the word vomit. “Not in the way you are: all consuming and lighting a fire in me I didn’t even know I had.”

 

Richie wound a hand around Eddie’s shoulders and swayed him close, taking another swig of the rum. “What if I told you I think the same about you?”

 

“I’d say that you’re a liar,” slurred Eddie. “Or crazy, I can’t decide.”

 

“Oh, I’m definitely crazy,” Richie waggled his eyebrows. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you absolutely drive me wild, Eds. Every waking moment I think about you and how much I love you and how beautiful you are, inside and out.”

 

Eddie cursed himself for feeling tears well in his eyes. He really was drunk, crying so easily and freely in front of all these people. “Shut up,” He choked out.

 

“No way,” said Richie. “I want everybody to know: I LOVE EDDIE KASPBRAK! HE’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GUY ON THE PLANET!” He screamed his head off into the party and all the heads turned to them and Eddie felt himself go bright red, the tears threatening to spill over.

 

It was silent for a moment, before everyone erupted into cheers and whistles, headed by Bev and the Losers and Richie’s friends. Richie pulled Eddie close and tilted his chin up to look at him. “No backing out now, Eds. Now everybody knows: I love you.”

 

Eddie smiled through his tears. “I love you too, you idiot.” He threw his arms around Richie and pulled him into a deep kiss, tongues tangling as they battled for dominance. When they pulled away, Eddie whispered into his ear, “Now give me back the rum.”

 

Richie laughed a nice belly laugh and handed it back to him. Eddie took a nice long swig, feeling it ignite his throat and belly. He felt really drunk now; drunk on love and on rum. And he never wanted the night to end. 

 

Never.

 

He watched through hazy eyes as Richie fished out a cigarette and lit up right inside the house. Somehow, despite Eddie’s pure hatred of cigarettes, Richie still managed to make it look sexy, effortlessly breathing in the black tar of smoke into his lungs, like breathing in the cleanest air, except cigarette smoke was the farthest thing from that. He found an ashtray near where they stood still swaying to the music and flicked his cigarette off in there. 

 

Eddie snuck his free hand around Richie’s middle, swaying gently with him in the dark of the room, just enjoying their closeness and the feel of Richie’s lips against his hair. He leaned up and pressed sneaky kisses to his jawline and neck, loving the way Richie shivered with what Eddie hoped was lust. Their happiness was broken, however, when they heard that asshole from earlier speak up again.

 

“Look at those fucking fags! Can’t they take that shit somewhere else?”

 

“Yeah!” said Richie loudly. “Maybe we’ll take it back to your Mom’s house, I know she likes a little guy on guy action.”

 

The guy whipped his head around and glared at Richie. He wasn’t an attractive guy by conventional means, with a shaved head and a huge ass nose ring and gaping gauges in his ears. Not that Eddie had anything against those things, but on this guy, with his ugly attitude, it just made him all the more disgusting. “What the hell did you just say, man?” The guy spat, clenching his fists.

 

“He said,” Eddie spoke up, feeling emboldened by the alcohol in his system. “That maybe we’ll bring our faggy selves to your Mom’s house. We know how much she loves to watch.”

 

“You tell your  _ bottom  _ to watch his mouth,” the guy shoved Eddie hard, causing him to fall back into Richie.

 

Bev seemed to have noticed what was going on and stepped in, Ben hovering behind her. “I think  _ you  _ need to back off,  _ Frank _ . No one needs your homophobic comments, asshole!”

 

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

 

“What’d you just say?” Ben stepped in now, crossing his impressive arms in front of  _ Frank _ and they saw him gulp audibly but didn’t stand down, the idiot.

 

“I told her to shut the fuck up. Keep your bitch in line.”

 

Ben was about to say something, when Richie tapped on Frank’s shoulder and when he turned with a “ _ What _ ?!” Richie socked him in the face, knocking him down to the floor. Blood began pouring profusely from his nose and he cursed, trying to stagger up but Richie placed his foot down on his chest and pressed down hard. 

 

“Get out of here, man,” he spat to Frank. “Or I’ll do more than break your nose.”

 

He glared hard into Frank’s eyes and he must have gotten the picture for when Richie eased up, he stumbled away and out of the door. A moment of silence followed before the room erupted into cheers once more, applauding Richie and his bravery. “Wow,” said Bev, wrapping an arm around Richie. “My hero.”

 

“And mine,” said Eddie, slinging his arm around Richie and pulling him for a kiss on his cheek.

 

“Let’s show our appreciation,” said Bev, grabbing Eddie’s hand and pulling him towards the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Let’s dance, Eddie!”

 

With the amount of alcohol in Eddie’s stomach at the moment, combined with weed and energy buzzing off of him from seeing Richie punch that asshole, it seemed like a great idea. He handed off the almost empty bottle of rum off to Richie who cheered as Bev pulled Eddie on top of the coffee table. The music changed to something that sounded vaguely foreign and very sexy and Eddie got into that headspace. He locked eyes with Richie and felt more bold than he’d ever felt in his whole life, dancing as if it was only the two of them and not a whole room of people. The people around them cheered as he and Bev grinded on each other, laughing their asses off as Bev ground her pelvis into his. Bev even gave him a little kiss on the lips, making Eddie blush and the people cheer harder. Eddie rocked his hips and sunk down sexily with a flexibility he didn’t know he possessed. Richie was smoking another cigarette, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s as he twirled his hips around and danced against Bev. 

 

Richie didn’t keep his eyes off of Eddie the entire time he danced and Eddie felt himself himself tighten with lust. Finally, once the song ended, he jumped down off the coffee table and ran into Richie’s arms, who grabbed him happily and kissed him fully on the mouth. 

 

“Let’s go fuck,” whispered Eddie against Richie’s mouth.

 

“You want to? Right now?” Richie asked, curling his fingers against Eddie’s hips excitedly.

 

“Yeah,” whispered Eddie. “Fuck me, now.”

 

Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him away, towards the first bedroom on the floor. It looked like Michelle’s parent’s bedroom, for it was more cleanly than what Eddie assumed Michelle’s room looked like. Richie attached his mouth to Eddie’s and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut and leaving them to their pleasure. 

 

In Eddie’s opinion, it was the best thing in the world to be in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! another chapter! i'm really trying to get these out in a timely fashion tbh i've been having some incredible depression issues and it's been hard to write a lot lately but i'm here, better late than never and with Starbucks:)
> 
> song - heavy metal heart by sky ferriera
> 
>  
> 
> playlist for the party to listen to:  
> hum hallelujah by fall out boy  
> africa by toto  
> iv.sweatpants by childish gambino  
> rose colored boy paramore  
> heavy metal heart by sky ferriera  
> are u gonna dance by junesex

**Author's Note:**

> Have any of you guys ever seen the 2003 movie 'thirteen'? It's amazing and I definitely got inspiration to write this story from that, as well as some of my own personal experiences...
> 
> Please leave your thoughts and feelings on this story, I'd really love the feedback 
> 
> And I promise, all will be explained as to why Richie is the way that he is, just not right away


End file.
